Chemical Induction: The 99th Annual Hunger Games
by TWilkins
Summary: When new Head Gamemaker Lucretia Cachexia finally gains the position she has desired for so many years, she plans to make her games the most memorable yet. And with a Quarter Quell just around the corner and the hundred-year anniversary of the Games themselves at stake, the need to impress is higher than ever.
1. Prologue: Control of the Knife

_***So after a very long break, I've decided to come back to this fandom and my goodness I have no idea how I have been away from it for so long. Here is my prologue, setting the scene for the games and to give you a taste of my style of writing. Hopefully you think my story is worthy of receiving your tributes.**_

 _ **My rating is T, but as a warning there will be some gritty stuff, after all it's a story about teenagers killing each other for sport. Who knows, there could even be some scenes of a more sexual nature so I guess we'll have to wait and see!**_

 _ **Anyway, here we go, and I hope you enjoy**_

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _Control of the Knife_

* * *

 **Invidius Glasswhistle**

 **Gamemaker**

* * *

The inactivity was unnerving _._ Of course, everything seemed to be lending itself to reinforcing my uneasiness: the chemical aroma wafting out from the hovercraft, the stifling heat of the artificial sun, the gnaw of apprehension about being summoned in the middle of the night and shipped here in the most frightfully cloak-and-dagger fashion. But it was the inactivity that I was finding the most unbearable. And I knew that I wasn't the only one. Eleven of my colleagues were stood to my left, in a rough semi-circle, all feeling the same discomfort that I was; some of the more obviously skittish amongst them were already sending nervous glances behind them into the empty space. It was another one of the reasons we were uncomfortable.

We were stood in the cornucopia grounds from the previous year's Hunger Games. The games _we_ designed. The ideas we had once been _so_ proud of, toasting to them over banquets in the dining hall, drinking fine vintage imported from District One especially and wagering over which tributes would be the first to fall. The same games that were now renowned throughout the Capitol as a failure. The _biggest_ failure. For that reason, being stood in _our_ arena was like a knife in the gut.

There had been games that were less popular among Capitolites: snowy arenas whose tributes died from hypothermia and starvation. Games with premature endings from rampart muttations. Even games with tributes so vicious that it would turn the stomach. Yet _our_ game. Ours took the proverbial cake.

I had been a Gamemaker in the worst games ever. I scoffed quietly to myself. No, I had just been burdened with working under an incompetent fool.

We had reaped a robust pool of tributes. All competent volunteers from District One, Two and Four, with only three tributes being under sixteen in total. It was a strong gene-pool and it was bound to be bloody. And it was. At the start.

It had opened with a furious dash to the Cornucopia, the dark metal structure baking in the constant midday sun. The grass was scorched and dry, only watered with the blood of the resulting massacre. There were some horrifically violent deaths and eight of the tributes were killed in the carnage, the ratings soared and it looked to be a brilliant success. However, when the tributes spread off with or without their hauls, the problems began.

We had designed the arena to be as open as possible, with nowhere to hide and running as the only option. It was a long dry horizon as far as the eye could see, a few hills towards the edges of the arena and a feeble stream that ran in the northwest. There was no food and the stream was the only source of water, designed to flush the tributes to fight over the Cornucopia supplies. A _genius_ hypothesis that should have resulted in a violent and savage game. That was not how it panned out.

The formidable alliance from District One, Two and Four tore itself apart after days of frustration; the other tributes remained mobile, scouting, with sight for miles in each direction. It took days to convince our oh-so-gifted Head Gamemaker to get involved, but finally, he gave the order. We wished he hadn't. He had us start a searing wildfire in the outskirts of the arena to force the tributes together. The dry grass was kindling for the flames and the winds pulled the flames like a paintbrush on a canvas. The flames moved faster than the tributes could, the majority burning to death in the inferno that was so dense our cameras couldn't focus on.

The command centre had never been so tense. Our only saving grace would have been an intense final duel between the last tributes. We didn't get that.

The final two tributes, the boy from District Ten and the Boy from District Five, were so badly burned that their skin was blistered and raw on every exposed surface, their polyester clothing melted to their flesh. Neither could stand, let alone fight. The Boy from District Ten won by default after his rival died from dehydration or his injuries; it was difficult to tell which. But even the victor wasn't in fit enough condition to do an interview until over a month after the games, and even then he looked so gaudily disfigured that he wasn't able to give much more than a few minutes on stage before he was returned to the medical centre.

A _travesty_ didn't even begin to capture the failure of the game.

The Head Gamemaker was… Retired, almost immediately after the conclusion. But we knew what that _really_ meant. It was a complete failure and it was regarded in such an overwhelmingly negative light that people expected a riot in the Capitol itself; luckily _Capitol Couture_ magazine played up the new wave of reds, oranges and yellows in the fashion for the next few months, to try and gain some sort of satisfaction over watching a games where eight tributes burned to death. Yet it was a harshly talked about topic, so much so that the usual tourism trips to the arena to re-capture the games didn't even occur. Nobody was interested in watching a wildfire.

The amount of re-runs of other year's games became so frequent that I felt shame to even leave my house. They went back to other years where the tributes died one at a time in dramatic ways, girls being thrown into muttation hordes, boys being gutted in ferocious duels. Things that made the blood pump more than watching tributes burn and scream in agony. We were _all_ regarded as an embarrassment. Nobody wanted to hear _my_ story.

And that was why it boded so ill that we were stood back in the arena that we worked so hard to create, stood in the centre of the ashy ground that had been the deathbed of twenty-three tributes, whose remnants were probably still underfoot. The summon; to meet the new Head Gamemaker.

Before the hovercraft arrived, we had all timidly discussed who it could have been, but it was a closely-guarded secret amongst the Capitol, which was noticeably off-key. Usually it was announced months in advance followed by parties and formals. This time it was rumour and whisper. The most wide-spread story was that it had been the President themselves who had appointed the figure, and that it was one of his closest aids, but nobody could be sure about who would be stepping off to greet them. There were tens of thousands of people who would have killed for the job. It was _the_ job to have, if you did it right.

If not… Well it wasn't a job many people had _stepped_ down from.

I felt my mind wandering before the metaling clunking sound of shoes tapping on the floor of the hovercraft perked up, all twelve of us noticeably standing to attention as though it were an automatic reaction, a few of us exchanging furtive glances in preparation. I nervously tucked up the small strand of dark blue hair that had come loose up behind my ear, taking a deep breath and trying not to cough at the chemical scent that hit me as I did so. The wait was agonising and my trembling hands threatened to tear themselves off, the sound of anything other than the clapping of footwear making my breath halt, my lungs screaming with pain as I braced for what I was about to see.

Long shoes came into view first, absurdly long that even the most fashion-centric Capitolite would struggle to wear, yet the figure walked easily in them, long sinewy legs coming into sight, before a large peplum skirt emerged, made of a jagged juxtaposition between emerald green, earthy brown and dark purple colours, with sharp angles that made it dizzying to behold.

I wasn't naïve enough to assume that because there was a skirt it meant that the Head Gamemaker was a woman, but the skirt told me enough. Gamemakers as a rule tended to be less gaudily dressed than most, this figure had clearly either broken the rule, or they weren't a Gamemaker at all, someone new brought into the mix. The next clue confirmed the latter.

A sleek metal staff swung down onto the floor and tapped as she walked, the bodice of her dress even more eccentric than the peplum, with the same three colours moving as if some form of optical illusion, dizzying to behold and maddening to try and understand how exactly the garment had been assembled. Then her face came into view, her alabaster skin whiter than a clean blanket of snow, her eye shadow a toxic purple with vibrant green flecks at the edges, her billowing hair long and ethereal, floating almost like smoke behind her as she finished descending from the hovercraft, a collected smile on her lips.

It took all of my efforts to repress the firm scowl that began a skirmish at the corner of my mouth, my held breath coming out as a twisted wheeze. I recognised her, we all did, _anybody_ would. She was the Madame Editor of _Capitol Couture_ , a hit figure in the Capitol who was almost universally adored and those few who didn't kept quiet about it… She had a close affiliation with the President and that was no doubt the reason that she had been appointed as the Head Gamemaker; she knew nothing of gamemaking, muttations, cinematography… She created the new fashion trends, but she did nothing else. She was a pawn, a pet to be fed the President's instructions and to act as was commanded.

Lucretia Cachexia, Head Gamemaker. It was a scandal.

"Now…" She began, and from her tone I knew that she wasn't going to introduce herself. In a way I preferred that. We knew who she was, she knew that we knew. I wouldn't have expected her to cut out a long haughty introduction, it was the only compliment I could find to give her. "First of all, I would just like to convey my deepest condolences for dragging you all the way out here on such short notice; I can only imagine how inconvenient it must be." Her tone wasn't apologetic in the slightest; she had another agenda with her words, I suddenly realised how hot I was, how anxious. How angry.

"However, I thought it would be greatly beneficial for all of you to return _here_ , to re-witness the final moment of these games…" She flicked a switch on the hand-held device she was holding, suddenly bringing the area around them to life with a great sea of fire, two burned and blistering male bodies hunched on the floor between her and us. She let the image stay for a few minutes, whilst we uncomfortably listened to the groans of agony from the tributes, before the re-creation sparked out of life as quickly as it had started. I found myself tugging at the neck of my shirt, feeling a hot flush spread over my body just like the wildfire that had blazed across the arena. She was tormenting us. I felt my teeth grind against each other.

"Tragic." She dismissively muttered. "Simply tragic, do you not think?" Her question was rhetorical, but it angered me nonetheless. "That such a promising candidate for Head Gamemaker, would commit himself to such a catastrophic endeavour…" She paced as she pondered, her metal staff, an object as slim and elegant as the woman herself, tapping dutifully against the floor in between her bird like steps, most likely to support her walking in her enormous heeled shoes. Her arrogance was making me seethe.

"But one _has_ to wonder…" Her sudden pause set me on edge, her stop and elegant turn on the spot, her exceptionally long eyelashes beating like a butterfly's wings as she scanned from one end of the line to the other. "How such an _obvious_ flaw managed to escape the eyes of not only the Head Gamemaker, but of his twelve associates as well." The demure smile that had been on her face the whole time suddenly dissolved into a thin frown. "That makes me begin to question your loyalties… And even wose, your competence."

My breath hitched again, not just from anger but also from fear now. She had just made a very clear threat. I felt the fight or flight instinct fluttering through my brain, but I remained rooted to the spot. I hated to admit it, but this woman had a lot of power. I couldn't risk antagonising her in the slightest. But I would have gladly ripped out her throat.

"But…" Her smile began to twitch back at the corners of her mouth. She was toying with us. "I am not an unreasonable woman. And I am more than happy to give you all a chance to prove your loyalties to me, after all, you all worked so very hard for your commissions; it would be ashamed to lose you all…" Her voice was unreadable, other than a hint of excitement that set my nerves on fire. My edginess only increased as she drew back towards the hovercraft, turning back to face us after putting a few more metres between us. She was treating us like District peasants; a wide birth to stop us from infecting her with imperfection. My palms seared from the pain of my nails digging into them, and I felt the wet warmth of blood dripping through my fingers.

"You'll find the Cornucopia well stocked…" She teased, her face politely blank, unflinching as the rest of us were taken by surprise.

A wall of flames erupted in a circle around our line, spanning from the back of the Cornucopia round the sides and finishing a few meters short of the Hovercraft on either side. The heat only broiled more over my already burning body, making me stagger backwards. These were no illusion.

"Happy Hunger Games…" She announced cordially, bringing up the holo-pad clutched in her free hand as if to take notes of what she was about to witness. "And may the odds be ever in your favour."

* * *

 **Lucretia Cachexia**

 **Head Gamemaker**

* * *

I enjoyed the transition of emotion the most, it was not only a spectacle, but thoroughly amusing. Watching the movement of confusion ripple across their dreary expressions, twisting into a masque of shock, then horror soon after that. Then fixing on anger, fury, _wrath_. They exchanged glances with such burning rage, as if trying to wager if it was a joke or whether it was not, whether they should rush at me or follow my instruction. As deliciously intense as I found their dilemma, I decided that they needed a little nudge in the right direction.

There was a small protrusion on the side of my staff, which to most onlookers was simply a stylized addition to bring out a little edge in the item. The reality was that as I pressed my finger onto the well concealed button, it slid ninety degrees backwards until the length of the aforementioned protrusion was pressed flush against the staff, revealing a trigger-like enhancement. At the same time, the complex inner-workings of the metal pulled back, the multifaceted arrangements of diamond studs at the top of the metal re-arranged it into four strong limbs that revealed vicious bladed edges, with the very top of the staff twisted open, revealing a small spiked dart inside the head.

It was a noiseless transition from an elegant and envied walking aid, to a deadly weapon, and the Gamemakers in front of me reflected that keenly. I slipped my finger onto the trigger and swung it up in a graceful arc, bringing it up and levelling it out with the temple of a female Gamemaker who's washed out expression looked so thoroughly dismal that I could not possibly imagine having her on my team. Image _is_ everything.

I pulled the trigger without hesitation, the thin dart from the tip shooting out and whistling through the air for no longer than a fraction of a second. It thudded into her temple and the impact took her to the floor, a cannon sounding in a most adorably ironic fashion that I couldn't help but smile at.

There was a split second moment of shock, before they got the hint.

Ten of the eleven remaining candidates turned and scrambled over the dry ground, pushing and shoving each other viciously now that it was life-or-death. I would have found their desperation fascinating, now that their survival instinct was kicking in, but I had to focus my main attentions on the one who stayed behind, the largest male amongst them who was practically foaming at the mouth. It was dreadfully uncouth.

He charged at me, but I had no bother to complain. I let the pad slip to the floor as I took a firmer grip on my staff, swinging it at an underarm angle so that the bladed end smashed into his jaw at fourty-five degrees. The momentum of the attack sent the blades ripping through the skin of his cheek and shattering his jawbone, continuing until it found its mark and did the same damage to his upper jaw, sending the weapon crashing out of his head and his limp corpse flopping to the side like a ragdoll, the bloodspray traveling with him. _Away_ from me.

The cannon sounded instantly, giving me a chance to lower down and pick up my pad, clicking my fingers for one of my Avoxes to come and clean by bloodied staff, whilst I narrowed my eyes to continue observing the spectacle before me.

Unlike the traditional games, all of the Gamemakers had reached the cornucopia at the same time, scrambling for weapons like outliers fighting over a food package. I raised a gloved hand to my mouth and let out a small, shallow giggle. Their ability was laughable; there had been thirteen year-olds in the Games with more spunk than what I was witnessing. There absolute rage seemed to just about make-up for it, but it still would have made a poor showing.

Better than what _they_ had created, mind.

Cannons began sounding as clumsily wielded swords clashed against bone, blood spray decorating their formal outfits with a dash of colour as screams began filling the space between cannons. Daggers tore through cartilage and slit tendons with grotesque snapping, spears struck through abdomens sending bile and gore to the dry grass like spaying confetti.

I couldn't even take _minor_ notes, but my pad was still useful. When it was tributes fighting, I had stakes on it. The Victor was important and everything anybody did in that arena was somewhat significant. The bloody fighting and inelegant screaming of a few washed out Gamemakers was notably less important. _Important._

My thought process reminded me to check the new range of boutique looks that had come in especially for the game celebrations. I _really_ needed to have a few new dresses made; after all, I was two of the most important people in the capitol. I flipped through the pages that my stylist had highlighted for me, grimacing as a few fragments of teeth clattered against the metal of the hovercraft above me. Not only that, but the screaming and yowling was somewhat distracting, occasionally piquing my interest just enough for me to look up and watch one of the Gamemakers beat another to death with a metal water canteen, denting the metal as much as she caved in his skull.

 _So violent._ I chuckled, taking a deep breath, tainted with a strange artificial smell, before getting back to my pad.

I was trying to decide between a full skirt, or a short skirt with a long train, when the display informed me that ten of the Gamemakers were now deceased. I couldn't help the corner of my mouth turning up in a smile. I glanced up, saving the page on the pad for now, ready to witness the intense duel between my potential assistants.

Of course, assistant was a loose word. More of a living reminder of how dangerous it was to talk down to me, whom I would occasionally allow to speak.

The woman was darker skinned, holding an axe with a slightly bloody spattering to it, her knuckles were white from the strength of her grip and her dress was somewhat bloodied. The male had dark blue hair and his white asymmetric shirt was bloodstained to the extreme, his hand holding a viciously pointed dagger in a firm grip, trembling a little from apprehension and from the gashing wound in his leg. His golden honey eyes and her olive coloured ones both mad with frenzy.

They almost looked like game rattled _tributes._ Teenagers who had been fighting for their lives for three could have fooled anybody.

Of course, normally in the position they had been in, even the most savage of Capitolites would never have behaved in such a bloodthirsty manner. I however, wasn't a novice in manipulation. In the social spires of the Capitol it was a compulsory skill. Of course, emotional manipulation took time, bribes and promise; it required trust or mutual beneficiary. It was tedious, and unbearable in a short-term situation. I found, that in these situations, and countless others, _chemical_ manipulation was far more effective.

I had installed small capsules along the outside of the hovercraft to emit a neuro-chemical stimulant to put both the prefrontal cortex and amygdala into states of hyperarousal. Of course I had taken the antidote for it, as had my Avoxes, but my dear Gamemakers had not.

At least their lack of talent was made up for by their chemically manipulated brains.

He made the first move, scrambling to puncture her torso, the edge of his honed blade glinting from the blood slick it was coated in. She was quicker-on-her-feet and sidestepped him, growling like an animal so loud that I could hear her clearly, her counter-attack poorly timed, but enough to graze the skin on his arm. It was his stagger that allowed her to deliver a menacing follow-through.

Her axe-blade cut through the air silently before it smashed into the side of his face, slicing his azure hair and smashing through his eye-socket with a bloodspray that was only eclipsed by the anguished yowl he followed with, all of course drowned out by the most sickening of crunches.

I couldn't help but be a little impressed. Not by the woman's swing, after all that was the work of my chemical compositions, and the roar she let out was positively barbaric. The impressive article was that there was no cannon sound after his fall, his screaming agony making my breath hitch. Witnessing it live was much more of a spectacle than seeing it from the comfort of the Capitol, even if they were _only_ failed Gamemakers. With tributes it would be so much more… _Stimulating._

The woman staggered after the axe broke through the wound, but she recovered quickly and made a move to imbed it in his skull. Swinging it above her head in preparation to split his head in two like she was crushing a melon, drops of blood and strings of gore still clinging to the end of the blade as it trembled with adrenaline.

But he was faster.

He shot up like a serpent with the knife in his hand sliding into her throat with ease, cutting off her frenzied snarl and replacing it with a strangled croak, the knife wound bubbling over with a pink-tinged froth. She flinched violently, coughing up a slurry of blood as the axe fell from her hands and solidly thudded against the floor, swiftly followed by her convulsing body.

 _Boom_.

I sighed with pleasure, clapping my gloved hands together softly as two medics jogged out of the hovercraft almost instantly, moving briskly to the wounded man, whom was still writhing in both chemical anger and physical agony. A small syringe containing the antidote to the chemical imbalance was plunged into his neck first, almost instantly taking affect as his wild eye suddenly blinked through with a burst of clarity.

His sudden howling was, unwelcome.

"Do take care of him…" I told the medics strictly as they moved him onto a stretcher. "I'm looking forward to having him by my side." I neglected to add that without his right eye, he would be an even more impressive scarecrow to help others to fall into line. "His opinions on my game plans and arena design will be most appreciated." I easily lied.

I couldn't help but smile with anticipation as his panicked eye locked with mine. He feared me. It was an overwhelming sensation. I reminded him of his place one final time, as his stretcher disappeared into the hovercraft.

" _My_ games, will _not_ be failures…"

* * *

 ** _*I hope you enjoyed what you've read so far, but I can only write more when I get some beautiful characters to work with, my SYOT submission form is on my profile so please fill it in and return it in a PM, not in a review. There are also a couple of guidelines to give you clues as to what I am aiming for._**

 ** _On that note, reviews are gold so if you've got anything to say, please say it. Good or bad I appreciate feedback, criticism and compliments of course :P_**

 ** _I don't have much else to say this time, but all of the slots are still open for now and I'll update the list on my profile as I make my choices. I cannot promise how long the next update is, as that all depends on your-beautiful-selves._**

 ** _Thank you all, and may the odds be ever in your favour._**

 ** _Thomas xx_**


	2. Prologue: Control of the Mind

_***Thank you all so much for your overwhelming support and feedback on my first chapter. I cannot explain how welcoming everyone has been and how friendly this fandom is.**_

 _ **Now this chapter may not be a strong as the first. Originally it was meant to come a little later in the story but I've decided just to add it now considering how supportive everyone is as a little thank you. Disclaimer, not often will my updates be after two days! Also, thank you to all those who have submitted tributes to me so far, some of you will have your placement confirmed at the end, but I haven't decided on all of them yet so don't be disheartened.**_

 _ **This chapter is slightly shorter than previous, for the reason stated above, but hopefully it's still okay! Be aware that the chapter may contain strong language and depiction of gory and or violent action. And will definitely contain some thrown shade.**_

 ** _Enjoy_**

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _Control of the Mind_

* * *

 **Lucretia Cachexia**

 **Head Gamemaker**

* * *

The tall, echoing hall of the training centre seemed unbelievably tranquil, nothing but the sound of my briskly clipping heels echoing up to the ceiling, with the unsteady sound of my new assistant's limp clattering behind me somewhere. I couldn't help but to wince at the ghastly noise, but I decided that, given the special situation, I could withhold the scolding. After all, the training centre would be everything _but_ tranquil for the next few days.

"I hope you're excited." I enthused him with a curled lip, taking a stop as we approached the dark-glass doors leading to the main training atrium. "The refurbishments to my specifications have been going on for _months_." I paused; tilting my head slightly to the side just to be sure he was paying attention. "It will seem like an entirely new building to you now. But I suppose _familiar_ surroundings mightn't be most prudent for you, at the moment anyway."

He blanched noticeably, a tendency that I had noticed developing whenever I mentioned anything relating to his previous stretch as Gamemaker. I let my eyes roll and scoffed. He needed to get himself together. He could happily take part in the ritual execution of twenty-three _teenage_ tributes every year, but apparently, taking part in a bloodbath with several other _failed_ Gamemakers was too much grief. _Honestly. Pathetic._

Bored of his murky silence, I pushed the door open soundlessly and stepped forwards as the chill, crisp air of the training centre greeted us. Despite being underground, the room had a somewhat, fresh, scent to it, if not slightly biting from the trace of chlorine. It put a smile on my face just being there. It was _my_ training centre. They were _my_ games. And the tributes, for a few days, would be all mine too.

The room was almost twice the size it had been previously. Knocking a few walls here and there certainly aided in increasing the amount of space. I had repositioned the Gamemaker's observation post to the centre of the room, a raised glass podium that had a three-hundred and sixty degree view of the tributes. A glass bridge connected it to the Gamemaker lounge, but I was determined to be watching as long as the tributes were training. Of course, microphones were positioned everywhere as well. I could see and hear anything _and_ everything that happened in the room. _Nothing_ would be missed.

"Impressive…" Invidius quietly agreed with me, his apprehension at speaking without being spoken too clear. "There is certainly more…" He began, before he droned off. I waited a few patient seconds before letting out a polite cough, reminding him that I was still there. "A-apologies…" He splattered, trying to gain composure.

"Do tell…" I cut in sarcastically. "What is it that is so enthralling that you forgot about me?" I feigned hurt in my voice as I spoke, before he slowly began leading the way over to one of the many weapons stands.

"I haven't seen designs like these before…" He told me as we approached the section of the room dedicated to ranged weapons, picking up a small bladed loop of metal as he spoke. "What is it?" He asked, bringing a small titter out of my mouth before I took the ring from him.

"A demonstration?" I teased, before squaring myself up and adjusting my stance on the weapon, gripping the blade between my index finger and thumb, before I hurled it through the air with the most graceful force. The bladed rim of the disc sliced clean through the leg of one of the mannequins, severing the limb and imbedding itself in the shin of the one behind it with nothing more than a clean whistle and a soft thud.

"You missed…" Smugness? He _was_ feeling brave. I let out a soft chuckle, preferring his attitude now as opposed to his grovelling and whimpering. Of course, we were alone. When with others, he would be my subservient pet without question. But for now, his misplaced courage was mildly amusing. It was almost as if he thought he _hadn't_ died in that arena.

His heart may have still been beating in his chest, but he was a trinket now. Nothing more than a useful tool that I hoped to replace with a much more expensive brand soon enough. But until then, he was on borrowed time. _My,_ time.

"Well…" I politely covered my mouth as I finished tittering. "How many tributes have you seen survive a loss of limb?" I paused, his head nodding a fraction in agreement. "Oh how silly of me." I sarcastically corrected myself. "You didn't _see_ anybody die, in _your_ arena." My voice made his breath rattle delightfully. But I had more to add. "Besides, _I'm_ not a tribute." The raised eyebrow I settled on him made him tremble.

"Indeed not." He confirmed oh-so-quickly, picking up another of the bladed rings on the stand and testing its weight and balance with trembling hands. "I-i haven't seen anything like this before, did you design it?" His quivering tone asked, changing the subject and flattering me in a desperate attempt to get some leeway. He _was_ pathetic. Perhaps I should have shot him first.

 _No._ I reminded myself. The woman Ikilled _definitely_ deserved to die. She had a face that looked like the product of tracker-jacker venom.

"I'm afraid not." I confirmed with a small smile, his remaining eyebrow arching in silent need for elaboration. "I have been digging through the archives; my predecessors didn't take full advantage of it." His face tightened at the mention of them, but he didn't comment. Of course he didn't, I had removed his spine and balls and now he was a glorified paperweight.

"You have to go very far back Pre-Panem, but eventually there are a few little scraps of information." I told him, knowing how overwhelmed he must have been that I was simply talking about the archives; most wouldn't mention them in public. _He_ certainly wouldn't have dared.

The archives were a great vault of information about, _everything_ , the history of Pre-Panem in particular being a very closely guarded secret. Only the President and a few key positions had access to it, and luckily those ranks officially included Head Gamemakers, in a limited capacity, but I still had to pull a few favours.

My request was accepted, albeit hesitantly; the archives were not often viewed, containing information that could easily disrupt the balance of the Capitol and the Districts. I had to be blindfolded as I was taken there and back in the most dreadfully uncivilised fashion. When I was there, I was closely watched by an eagle-eyed hag and had only been able to review the most strictly relevant data. It still paid off.

Like all of my gambles.

"It's called a charkram." I told him with a sickly smile on my face, relishing the power I was displaying. "There are other things too, this for example." I picked up a lightly built chain, with three weighted balls connected to three separate chains.

"A flail, correct?" He inquired, incorrectly. _Idiot_.

"A flail is quite different." I paused, moving the weapon off of the stands and letting the sound of the chain clicking echo through the room. "It's called a bolas." I told him, offering him the implement, which he took with interest. "It's used for ensnaring humans and animals; it could lead to some delightful moments if any of my tributes decide to take it up…"

I continued touring through the weapons that would be usable for training, bows and crossbows, throwing knives and a few more creative additions. A wall rack spanning several metres held dozens of swords, from thin rapiers that could shave a hair off of a spider to a Zweihänder that stood taller than the training mannequins. There were spears, axes, tridents and forks, chain-whips and flails, a collection of daggers so vast that every tribute could choose to train with them and there would be spares. I had spared _no_ expense.

There were hammers and pickaxes that would break a rock from a cliff with ease, as well as metal shields that would resist such a blow. The range weapons available were so varied that even the youngest tribute would be intrigued with blow-darts and slingshots, even with a viciously bladed boomerang that would probably be more trouble than it was worth. But then _every_ game had to have the funny death.

I had also made a point to add key areas of training that had been amiss over the years. I showed Invidius the large swimming pool located at the back of the training area, shouting him like a dog to get him to stop observing the daggers. I for one was tired of a tribute from District Four winning every game where water played a key part. Trap crafting, poison and chemical information and even an explosives station had all been added with survival skills being taught by experts on the topics hired especially.

 _No_ tribute could stand in the training hall and say there was nothing they could do.

"Our tributes have enough in here to keep them busy for weeks…" Invidius muttered as we passed a large climbing wall, with padded flooring to prevent a tribute from breaking bones if they slipped. "We'll be lucky if they can even decide what to focus on in three days."

" _My_ tributes, my dear, or have you forgotten your position already?" I slipped out with an icy lash of the tongue that beat him back down into submission. "And _four_ days now, with the changes I have made to the train journeys, they'll be busy even before they're in the Capitol. You'll find quite a few changes in the usual norms of the Games this year. I have such a broad skill set after all. _You_ know _that_." I added with the slightest scoff, before I took him through another set of doors into the dining hall, lavishly decorated and ready for a banquet.

"I've decided that after the chariot Parade, we'll give the tributes a few hours to get ready and then…" I gestured widely, towards the hall. "They'll be brought down to get to know each other a little more formally. It will also give _us_ a chance to get to know how they behave." I finished with a confidant lilt in my upper lip.

Of course, he remained silent this time, which was to be expected after my reminder of his position. He was adorably wretched; I almost wanted to donate money to the poor creature. Of course, I wouldn't _actually_ waste money on such a lost cause; I saved for the important things. _Important_.

I brought up my pad instantly, my thought process reminding me that my stylist was meant to be getting back to me about the dress I had commissioned. In the end I had decided that an exaggerated train attached to a shorter dress would be ushering in a new trend, and with the amount of fabric required for the train, _Capitol Couture_ sales would undoubtedly skyrocket.

Model, Writer, Stylist, Madame Editior, Head Gamemaker, Businesswoman extraordinaire, it seemed before long I'd end up President of Panem itself.

I let an eldritch smile cross my lips in my thoughts, and I felt Invidius shudder beside me.

"Goodness…" I corrected myself, wiping any thoughts from my mind. "The downside of being intelligent; sometimes the mind just wanders. _You_ wouldn't know…" I mused, before I let my swift-stepping heels take me out of the banquet hall, back into the clinical smell of the training centre, my pad returning to my side in an ever-so-slightly too tight grip. It was anticipation. My stylist was about to start constructing my gown.

I led Invidius by an imaginary leash up to the observation post, taking him past the medical station, among others, and the large cargo net that spanned the length of the hall in the process. The stairs to the upper level were just off of the training hall, out of the reach of any wandering tributes, the long glass walkway spanning the distance making a much sharper sound with each step I took, whilst the lumbering stomping of my pet threatened to shatter it. I scowled again, before contemplating the removal of his legs.

The training centre looked entirely different from the podium, we were now above the action and every little movement was subject to my scrutiny. But that wasn't why I had dragged _Invidius_ up to the booth.

One of the most important features, for now, was the holographic projector in the hub of the booth, just perched in the centre of the table. It contained my arena schematics.

The light flicked blue as the design for my arena burst into life in front of us, displaying the environment clearly to the point where anybody in the room could see. It would be particularly useful in a few days, when we were discussing tributes. I didn't _actually_ want his opinion. But other than the architects, nobody else had seen my plans, and I was positively gasping to show them off.

"As you can see…" I began explaining to him, a satisfied smile on my lips as I spoke. "The cornucopia has a slightly different style as opposed to usual games… It will be terrific…" I tittered quietly to myself. "Can you imagine the look…" I stopped as a flicker of light flashed by my face, blinding me for a single heartbeat before it disappeared. It put me on alert.

Invidius was still staring at the highlighted section of the cornucopia, trembling as-usual, as my eyes did a quick scan of him. He wasn't wearing a watch, nor anything silvered or metallic that could have caught the light so. I pouted with confusion as I took a quick scan across the room. Empty.

None of the weapons could have caught and reflected light into the booth and then stop immediately. It made no sense…

Then I noticed Invidius' quick glance up at me.

Then I caught the glint of the dagger clutched behind his back.

He flew at me like an animal, crazed and feral as I stumbled backwards out of his reach. I almost praised him for his newfound confidence; he had probably been plotting to kill me ever since the hospital. _Fuck._ I mentally swore; I underestimated the imp.

Without my staff I wasn't going to be able to overpower him, _why_ the hell did I not bring it?

I had to be careful.

The dagger in his hand swung by me as he pounced, scrambling over the table with a cluttering noise, closing the gap between us before I could make it bigger. The rage in his eyes looked almost as though I had deployed my chemicals. _I_ hadn't. Nobody had. Unless…

My thoughts were stopped as the dagger caught my arm, slicing through and leaving a thin scratch in its wake. It stung with malice but his overshot gave me just enough time to move back to a safer distance, weighing up my options.

"I wouldn't have expected so much _fire_ from you…" I taunted him with malevolence, my knuckles burning from the tightness of my grip around my holo-pad. "I thought you reserved your fire to give children pitiable deaths…"

He lunged again, missing me on account of my sidestep, sending him hurtling into the wall of the glass bridge. There was something about him that didn't seem quite right.

"You have yourself to thank for that, Madame Editor…" He replied with a voice so raspy that it seemed as though he was in pain, almost struggling to stand straight again after his clash against the wall. "After all, you _do_ have such a _broad_ skill set."

"I see…" I couldn't help but smile at his plan, and his idiocy. And his craftiness.

Somehow he must have gotten a hold of one of my chemical vials. I didn't know how, but he _had_ had numerous opportunities to steal them. I cursed my own meticulousness for having them all so efficiently labelled. I also cursed myself for telling the wretch about them at all... I hadn't expected him to be so imprudent.

He must have injected it, hence his trembling. It wasn't designed to be injected, and the stress would probably overload his heart within minutes. But until then, he would be a most dangerous adversary.

I decided that to keep him talking would be my best chance.

"So what? Are you the hero now? Avenging all of your fallen comrades in one final, self-sacrificing frenzy? Like some rampart dog that needs to be put down."

His reply was delayed, he was already struggling.

"I… want… kill… bitch…" He mumbled, I couldn't even be sure what he said. But the spark in his eyes told me what I _needed_ to hear.

The dagger spun through the air ferociously as he hurled it at me, giving me a heartbeat to duck, forcing me to stop watching for the split second it took for his crazed body to ram into me, tackling me barbarically and charging me straight into the force-field at the edge of the booth. _Idiot._ He hadn't realised there was a force field there.

The impact sent us both catapulting through the air, where his grip on me slacked. My breath was forced out of my lungs as I slammed into the floor, rolling into the outer rim with an elegant grunt. I felt pain shooting through my body and my vision felt a little foggy as I hit my head. My ears rung, but my senses were sharp enough to identify the long smear of make-up that was cutting a swathe in the dark, cold floor.

One of my fingernails snapped as I attempted to scramble back to my feet, hearing his rabid grunting from a short distance away and desperate not to be at the mercy of it. My limbs trembled, but I managed to stand straight, my ribcage sore under my skin and my back twisted. But I managed to repress those feelings when I noticed his wheezing form crunched up on his back, gasping for breath whilst his fingers grasped fruitlessly against the marble beneath him.

As amusing as I would have found it to watch him die a humiliating and agonising death, his lungs seizing as his heart pushed his body into paroxysm, his muscles contracting and releasing against his will until his aorta burst from the strain… _I_ was angry. And _he_ was mine to end.

I walked over to him, but the chemical had made him delirious. His eye was vacant in his head and saliva was frothing from his open mouth, blood was starting to run from his flat nose as the growing stain on his trousers revealed how little control he had over his bladder. I rolled my eyes with a sour expression, his existence was undignified and the wretch repulsed me. I _should_ have killed him in the arena. I didn't need an assistant.

 _I_ was always happy to wait for the more expensive brand.

I moved the thin heel of my shoe to his eye, looking away calmly as I pressed down, my action not dissimilar to wiping my feet after getting home from a long day of work. There was a sharp popping noise that split through the air of the training centre, which gave way to a slow and dull squelching that seemed to vibrate up through my leg and into my body.

When my heel met the hard resistance of his inner-back skull, I slowly withdrew my foot, the grasping resistance uncomfortable to endure. But when I finally broke free, I set a brisk pace back towards the holo-pad that had clattered down after the fight, picking it up with a low sigh.

"Vyctorya?" I questioned as I put a call through to my stylist, who of course answered within moments. "I have changed my mind, the floor length dress would be much more suited to this special occasion, I would _hate_ to appear tarty." My reasoning reached her ears like an honest thought, but in reality I knew my legs would be bringing up uncouth bruises by the morning. I was lucky that the cut on my arm was little more than a scratch. Even _I_ would struggle to explain that. "Keep the train though."

I wandered over to where the dagger had landed after his callous throw, looking out to where he had tried to tackle me off of the edge of the observation booth. We would have landed on a collection of spears. My lips drew an unpleasant frown.

"Anything else, Madame?"

"Oh…" I murmured aloud, drawing my attention back to the pad. "Yes, actually." I took one last look down at Invidius' wrenched form, before I set off with a brisk pace back along the glass bridge. "I need some new shoes." I felt my frown lift into a curled smirk.

"I just stepped on an insect."

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

* * *

 _ ***So I really hope that wasn't too bad. I wanted to give you all the taste of things that you didn't get in the first section, such as conversation and prose along with a more detailed fight sequence. It was brief, but I didn't want to drag it on excessively.**_

 _ **Please let me know what you thought of it with a review or a PM. I welcome criticism if you have constructive feedback so please feel free to give me that.**_

 _ **Now, onto the real meat. Tributes so far! *Que Panem anthem***_

 **District Details**

District One: Luxury: Population 24,315

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

DamBaudelaires

Male:

District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254

Female: Arizel Thymscar- 17

One True Victor

Male: (1 submission)

District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329

Female:

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

AKLNxStories

District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

Misfit-right-in

Male:

District Five: Power: Population 134,345

Female: (1 submission)

Male:

District Six: Transport: Population 784,453

Female:

Male:

District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

TheDancerSG

Male:

District Eight: Textiles: 122,134

Female:

Male: (1 sumbission)

District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346

Female:

Male: (2 submissions)

District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234

Female: (1 submission)

Male: (1 submission)

District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546

Female:

Male:

District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935

Female: Celine Dust-18

Nordic Nonsense

Male:

* * *

 ** _Congratulations if your tribute was selected, and if not, I haven't ruled anybody out yet!_**

 ** _Also, please don't hesitate from submitting to a district that has a submission on this bored. If it is not confirmed then the place is open. Also, if there are two submitted to one district at this stage and I like them both, I can move them around easily. I'm looking to have an all round cast and some of the tributes are held off at the moment as I need to know more about the rest of the characters before I know whether they will work or not. Some I cannot decide yet. :P_**

 ** _As you may have noticed, I could do with a younger tribute or two, I am happy to have lots of older tributes as they are statistically more likely to be here, but I still would like a couple of the younger ones._**

 ** _Also, as some of my submitters may know, I will sometimes tweak your form a little (after asking and discussing with you) to make you more likely to fit into my games._**

 ** _I am happy to have multiple submissions from one author, my own rule is not to submit more than one career tribute as they often last a little longer in the arena and as such are more valuable (Where are the boys!)_**

 ** _Thank you all again, and I hope to see a little more from you all._**

 ** _May the odds be ever in your favour!_**


	3. Chapter One: Vanity

_**Good Evening everyone, where I live it is 00:40 and it is my Birthday!**_

 _ **It's not gonna be great so I thought I'd start it off with a bang! (My manager at work decided to cancel my holiday I booked off in SEPTEMBER and not tell me about it so I have to work tomorrow. I intend to do nothing!)**_

 _ **Apologies for the delay in updating, I intended to do it sooner but I had a lot of competition for the D2M and I really wanted them to be sorted before I posted this chapter. I can't make promises about how often I'll update, hopefully once a week but university is starting up again and I'm stage managing and acting in a show in February so that's a lot of work. (for those who don't know, a stage manager is the person in theatre who does everything and gets very little credit for doing it *violin sound*)**_

 _ **But, onto things you need to know about:**_

 _ **Thank you to my two fabulous submitters.**_

 _ **I do sometimes add and swap things around with the tributes just to make it flow better in my story, sometimes I'll need to invent characters or choose not to include characters in order to make the Reapings a little more dynamic and not have similar things happening in each chapter.**_

 **Also, just to answer a question a few people have asked:**

 **I do not shy away from writing very gritty material. I will write gory and horrific deaths, there may be scenes involving non-consensual sexual activities, and there will be foul language. I never intend anything to be offensive, it is all to make the story more real.**

 **Please be aware of this when reading, I will attempt to warn people to the best of my ability, but be aware this is a story built around the premise of children murdering each other.**

 **Thank you for all the tributes submitted so far, don't be disheartened if you did not get in, I'm happy to explain why if you would like to PM me, but I am also happy to take more submissions as, I still have lots of space.**

 **Anyway, enough of my drivel. Let us begin:**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _Vanity_

* * *

 **Giada Beauchamp**

 **Eighteen Years Old, Female, District One**

* * *

I had a miserable scowl plastered onto my face as I stared out the window in a despondent daze. _Everything_ was ruined.

My mood mimicked the grey evening drizzle that was keeping everybody off of the streets. Usually everyone and their Mother would be out and about, excitedly showing off their children and dressing them in their finest clothes, or teenagers swaggering with smug smiles telling tales about the day that _they_ were going to volunteer; that was just the way it worked in District One. The Reaping wasn't just an opportunity for the chosen volunteer tribute for that year; it was an opportunity for every family to show off just how much wealth they had and every academy student to boast their prowess.

Of course, the chosen volunteer was still the one who was the _centre_ of attention, the one who got selected especially by the Academy mentors to compete in the games and bring pride to the District. I had been training for _four_ years to compete in the games. But what do they do on the assessment day? When we were paired up to spar with other people who were applying to see who was better? They paired me with a fucking whale.

 _Deur Corvette._ A big lump of a woman with stringy, thin, ill-shaped hair and the most distasteful grunt whenever she launched a javelin. It was no wonder she beat me in a spar; she'd beat anybody in a spar. She was in a higher weight class than most of the boys and certainly the rest of the girls, not to mention that she had an aggressive temperament and would be happy to fight at a moment's notice if someone so much as looked at her funny. Plus, with the state of her half-rotten teeth, all she needed to do was breathe on somebody to put them into catatonic shock.

I scoffed.

The thought of her pudgy expression and her beady eyes made my stomach turn. She may have been big enough to weigh somebody down in a fight, and her tree-trunk legs may have given her the edge in a race. But you know what she didn't have? _Talent._

Other than a rather impressive ability to eat copious amounts of dessert, she was an exceptionally bland individual. What could she bring to the Capitol other than money for their pudding chefs? The Capitol would take one look at her and dismiss her from all consideration. She would never get sponsors, never get attention, never have a sterling romance with a handsome male tribute… She'd flail like a crazed horse caught in barbed wire.

But then again, she did that most of the time anyway.

A small smirk crossed my face, at the thought of Deur's lumbering footsteps, before a brief pair of knocks clunked against the wood of my bedroom door. I didn't need to move from where I was sat, not even turn my head, to know who it was.

"Mother?" I dryly responded as she entered the room without waiting for my invitation. "What is it?"

"I've just gotten your Sister ready…" She told me with a quiet smile on her face. "It's time to do your hair."

I simply huffed at the statement, lifting myself off of my position at the window and walking over to my dressing table, setting myself down with a grimace as my Mother moved in behind me and picked up my hairbrush, running her hands through my silken hair whilst I simply stared at my own blue-eyed reflection with a vacant expression.

We sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence as she brushed and combed, constantly pulling and pushing my hair into different places and styles, trying to work out how to prune and show me off the best. My scowl slowly deepened as she continued the manhandling, making me huff every time she decided to not go through with the updo she had decided on, or to plait it a different way, until eventually she decided to speak.

"I know how disappointed you are…" She cooed as she ran the hairbrush down through my blonde waves, making me wince whenever she encountered a particularly tough knot, which there were a lot of considering how much she was messing with it. "I know you wanted to volunteer, but…" She paused suddenly, as if to try and think of some sort of silver lining to the disgraceful decision made by the mentors this year.

"Don't try…" I began, but she talked straight over me.

"You _still_ have your music… At least that is something." She decided to tell me, even though I had just been very clear in that I _did not_ want her to, which she would have heard if she hadn't spoken straight over me. I pushed her away this time as she went to continue with my hair, scoffing loudly and standing up. She hadn't been doing a very good job anyway, constantly fussing and changing. I was happy to wear it down.

"Yes, of course." I sarcastically spat at her. "Because I might get a chance to play for some officials, or Peacekeers, or the Mayor…" I took a deep breath, taking my fur-trimmed jacket from my wardrobe with a scowl. "If I was in the Capitol, _everyone_ would be seeing. _Everyone_ Mother! Don't you understand how important it is for a musician to reach a wide-fucking-audience?"

I was annoyed with her lack of scope. I had been training for the games for _four whole years_ of sweat and blood and pain and all I got was sat on by a beast-of-a-woman. I had put in all those years of effort and time for one reason; fame. That was what the Hunger Games brought you; you became famous. Deur could do nothing with fame. _Nothing._

"Language… I'm just trying to…" My Mother began, with an impossibly reasonable tone, but I cut her off as I stormed from the room, letting the door swing shut without a care.

She just _did not_ understand.

They had never supported me, my Parents. They paid for my lessons to keep me busy on the days that they had to work late. Naturally, they were so proud at first: 'Finally, our darling daughter is _good_ at something' they would say, shuffling me about like a prized animal. Of course, when I told them that I was going to be a musician when I grew up, and they pulled pained smiles, I knew they wouldn't support it.

They didn't complain though. After all, I _could_ have been a stripper.

I walked out of the door at a fairly brisk pace, my jacket a blessing against the slight chill of the evening wind and my umbrella blocking the majority of the fine drizzle, stepping down onto the stone street that was just starting to be darkened by the setting sun. I didn't understand why we were having the Reaping ceremony in the evening all of a sudden. Usually it was midday and warm, without having to wait for hours and hours just to stand in a crowd and see someone walk out and volunteer whom everybody already knew was going to volunteer. It was frightfully dull.

But did it _have_ to be?

I stopped dead on the street, the stray thought in my mind getting snared like an animal rooting through a hunter's trap.

Did it _have_ to be a dull Reaping?

Just because she had won the tournament… If I was quicker than her, if I got to the stage first…

I let a small smile cross my features.

Then I felt somebody splash through a puddle next to me, making me shriek and drop my umbrella as the cold water suddenly dashed the bottom of my dress and flicked against my skin. I swung around in a frenzy ready to stab whoever ran past as I noticed two boys jogging away and laughing.

"Talentless fuckwits!" I shrieked at them, growling with menace as I scrambled to pick up my umbrella, cursing the rain and the boys and everyone else in the District, and the whole of Panem. Then I froze again, my umbrella dripping down to the stone ground.

The plan began to swirl to life in my brain. The rain _would_ work to my advantage, and even though the Reaping grounds would be lit up brighter than a new trend in the Capitol, if I got there early and I took a space right at the front, I would probably have time to dash under the roped section and get onto the stage. I _had_ to be quick, and subtle. But I could do it.

 _That_ was the hard part; the Escort Auriel was notably dense and wasn't great when it came to dressing to impress either. If I said the right things to her, she would believe me and move onto the boys before Deur would have even waddled into the isle. Then I would be cemented in and nobody could change anything about it.

The corner of my mouth tilted up as I walked up into my house, dropping my umbrella by my front door just as my Mother was climbing down the stairs. I grimaced as I saw her. I had forgotten why I had stormed out in all of the excitement.

"You can do your own hair." She scolded me, pulling a hurt face as she brushed past me to go into the lounge. "Your dress is filthy…" She added, disappearing before I could even turn to face her with my glare.

She _was_ right about the dress. I could feel the hem of the delicate material clinging to my hairless limbs from the water that had been splashed onto it by the idiots on the street. My scowl only deepened as I trudged up the stairs, knowing that I had to change quickly and wouldn't have time to pick out the perfect new outfit.

My Mother had left my bedroom door open, which usually irritated me to no end, but in this instance was marginally helpful. I let it shut with a slam as I quickly shrugged my jacket off and let it hang off of the bottom of my bed, slipping the straps off of my shoulders and letting the wet fabric pool into a heap at my feet. I grabbed the first thing from my wardrobe that looked remotely formal, a simple pearl coloured dress with long sleeves and pink fur trims at the cuffs, hem and neckline; having parents who were successful furriers helped out with getting nice clothes.

It wasn't the most subtle choice, but I put it on regardless, kicking off my slightly dingy white shoes and switching to a pair of cheap pink high heels, as tall as I could walk in. I grimaced at the thought of trying to climb the stairs to the Reaping stage in them, but knew that if I wanted to make a good impression, I needed the height boost on the stage. Being short had never worked in my favour in the slightest.

With my change in outfit sorted, I got the final thing that I needed for the Reaping, if I was going to get that place as the District One Female.

My clarinet case.

After all, what use would getting all the way to the Capitol be if I didn't have a talent to show when I got there?

* * *

 **Narce Valentine**

 **Eighteen Years Old, Male, District One**

* * *

"So how much do I owe you for the private showing?" He teased with a lopsided grin on his face that held a hint of arousal he would never actually admit to. He was sat there on the edge of my bed wearing a smart peach-coloured shirt and a black blazer, his auburn hair eccentrically styled up, and his leg suddenly moving into a crossed position.

I wondered what he was concealing.

"Don't worry; this one's on the house." I replied smoothly, taking the joke as lightly as it was intended. A lot of the boys at the training centre had issues with what I did on the side. They thought it made me weak, a sissy boy… Well they got it wrong.

I was a likeable person, I was courteous, polite, kind and I was always happy to give someone some assistance if they looked like they were struggling. For some of them, they thought it was a reason to pick on me, to single me out and call me names. And of course, when they found out my profession, they only picked on me more. I was shorter than most of them, smaller in frame as well.

But yet, in the sparring practice, _they_ didn't win.

 _I_ did.

"You're just saying that so you don't have to give me my money's worth." He replied to me with a wink and a cheeky edge to his smile. "Why are you taking so long to choose your outfit anyway? You _won_. You've got the spot already." He continued, making me chuckle quietly to myself.

Jet was a decent guy; he was a year younger and a very strong contender for the chosen tribute next year. He was well built and muscled and, from the few times I had watched him training, he was lethal. He was attractive, cocky, daring and everything else the Capitol loved from our tributes. The thing he lacked, the thing they all seemed to lack, was any sense of logic.

I was pretty sure the reason he chose to hang around me so much was because he was infatuated with me and what I did. It wasn't a surprise, I was attractive. My skin was a light tan that usually glistened from oils and lotions that I used to make it so. I had a neat head of chocolate brown hair with a sloping fringe down to one side. My eyes were slightly upturned and a gorgeous shade of sapphire and my muscularity was lean and boyish, but limber and deadly if I wanted it to be. No wonder he was smitten, I _was_ gorgeous.

And I needed to be. I had spent my days at the academy training since I was eleven, whilst my parents worked at one of the perfumeries in the District. They weren't as well paid as some of the residents; we struggled a little with our finances but we did okay. But the older I got and the more I ate, the more difficult my parents seemed to find it to put enough food on the table. Taking tesserae in District One was the pinnacle of humiliation. So when I turned sixteen I found myself a job.

Formally I was a 'private dancer'.

The District wasn't anywhere near as rich as the Capitol was, but the wealthier people still planned events. And those who were in more senior positions in the vineyards, perfumeries, furriers or some of the more successful cosmetic chemists, or the self-employed jewellers, goldsmiths, silversmiths, or wig makers, even Peacekeepers, _they_ earned enough to keep themselves very comfortable. And if comfortable for them meant having a sixteen year old boy take his clothes off in front of them, then they would pay handsomely for it.

I was gorgeous and people rewarded me for that. Within a few months I was bringing in as much money as my parents were and they began to ask questions. When I told them what I did… My Mother and I ended up moving into a cramped loft above a small perfume boutique that she got offered a job from. My Father wanted us gone. She got the new job after suggesting a new range of scents for the Capitol that would capture the 'aroma' of the Districts, they tried it and it was a booming success. They timed the release to coincide with the 97th Hunger Games and of course, _everyone_ wanted to wear the smell of their favourite tribute.

The bottled salty air of _District Four_ , the damp mossy woods of _District Seven_ , the fruity and sweet smells from the orchards of _District Eleven_ and the fresh and open air scents of _District Nine_. I'd worn them all over the year, my favourite of course being the sensual and aphrodisiacal scents from _District One_. Jet, on the other hand, always liked the strong and musky, earthen smells of _District Two_.

I wagered that he was overcompensating for his masculinity.

Although we did well that year, we got by, everyone else caught on and before long every store was selling District fragrances. The bigger boutiques had more competitive prices and for the 98th Hunger Games my Mother said that they had barely earned a quarter of what they had earned last year. And I _knew_ that the 99th would have earnings that were just as dreary.

 _That_ was why I had tried so hard over the years. So that my Mother could have a better lifestyle, not have to spend so long in a small boutique that her eyes would be burning and her nose lodged with the smells she had been working on. That, and another reason.

Something that had always fascinated me with all of the Games I had watched, every Victory tour that had pulled through our District, every outdated issue of _Capitol Couture_ that would somehow end up in my Mother's hands. The psychology of the Victor. Some went mad, others were proud. Some people gave long interviews and would happily go into depth about the atrocities they had committed in the arena, others overdosed on morphling. Some got prosthetics and looked good as new; others kept their severed limbs as a reminder. One famously sharpened her teeth… I wanted to know what that was like, what really made a Victor tick.

But for a start, I needed to explain to Jet how important clothing was.

"I may already have the spot as Tribute…" I explained to him, as I was looking in the mirror and pulling on my sheer-white shirt and buttoning it up with my dexterous fingers. "But the _Capitol_ don't know who I am. I need to make an impression on them."

"So you're showing them your nipples?" Jet questioned with a mischievous edge to his tone, making me scoff a little, turning my head round to face him.

"It worked on _you_ didn't it?"

I noticed the blush on his face, watched him do an adorable little open-and-close of his mouth as he struggled with thinking of something to say. I never got to hear his reply, because before he could think of one, the adrenaline-inducing sound of the Reaping claxon echoed through the District.

I took a blazer of my own from the back of my bedroom door, before swiping a little bit of _District One_ on my wrists and neck and making a move out of my bedroom. I gracefully walked down the stairs into the disorienting fragrance of the shop and grabbed an umbrella before getting ready to go out of the front door. But I couldn't resist one final glance around at Jet.

"Want to hold hands on the way?" I teased him with the most heart-melting smile I could muster.

His response was a cross between a pout and a blushing-smile, then a good display of his middle finger before we both stepped outside into the evening drizzle and sped down to the Reaping ground.

* * *

 **Narce Valentine**

 **Eighteen Years Old, Male, District One**

* * *

The long-winded video always puzzled me. Its intention was clear, to remind the Districts about the rebellion. It had changed recently, the voice of the late President being replaced by that of his Granddaughter, some of the footage changing a little but never in a dramatic way. It dragged on as usual; I never understood why it was played in District One at all. We volunteered, we _wanted_ the Games. Some families were disapproving but they were in the minority.

I sighed.

Tradition seldom died.

"Oh my…" Auriel, our Escort, exclaimed with such emotion in her voice that I thought she might simply break down in tears before she could get on with the Reaping. "I always find that video _so_ powerful. It truly shows where Panem has come from… Our roots, our sacrifice, our strength…" She continued, before she seemed to catch on that everybody in the audience was waiting for one moment… She smiled.

"Now, the time is here for us to meet our daring tributes for the ninety-ninth annual Hunger Games. I expect we may have one or two eager volunteers lurking amongst you, but you all know that I'm a sucker for tradition…" She told us with an upbeat and peppy smile. "Ladies first."

Her fingers dramatically hovered over the bowl drifting about in an agonizingly apprehensive moment, before she plucked one of the pieces of paper out like a long-beaked bird, before waltzing up to the microphone and opening the small piece of paper.

"Sh…"

"I volunteer!" A surprisingly deep voice for a girl bellowed out of the crowd, turning everyone to look at her. Deur Corvette. A pretty name for a not-so-pretty girl. She looked frightfully smug, placed in the middle of the back row of eighteen year old girls, turning to her neighbours with a bold face and a disgustingly superior expression.

She was good, I gave her that. I'd seen her throwing javelins and she was accurate. She was somewhat imposing in physical combat as well, built like a man, with legs thick as tree trunks and a very strong jaw. She was bigger than me by quite a way. However, she wouldn't be as great at getting sponsors with _her_ face, usually the District One tributes were pretty and delicate, she was the absolute opposite of both. I also dreaded having to work with her; she looked as though she would be insufferably difficult.

"What's your name dear?" Auriel pepped up quietly on stage, whilst everyone was still fixated on Deur's slow and arrogant progress through the crowd, glancing up towards the stage as if to prematurely answer the question. Her face dropped with horror.

"Giada Beauchamp." A girl stood in her place smugly announced into the microphone.

I recognised her shoulder length blonde waves and her slightly irritating expression of superiority. She had called me talentless once when I had tried to help her adjust her grip with throwing axes. She had been paired with Deur in the first round of the girl's sparring and had been destroyed by the bigger woman. I honestly had never given her much thought. Clearly I should have. It took someone especially devious and void of morality to take someone else's place. Of course, _everybody_ hated Deur, so it wasn't too bad. But then Giada wasn't well liked either. It was definitely immoral.

But it worked out better for me.

"Congratulations Giada!" Auriel cheered quietly, completely oblivious to Deur's face of fury pushing through the crowd like a meteor. "I'm sure you will do District One very proud…" She took a very brief pause to smile her sickly yellow lips down at Giada. "Now, the boys."

As she fished around in the boys bowl, Deur had finally waded through the crowd, shouting and screaming obscenities and getting ridiculously red faced as she did so. Two Peacekeepers intercepted her just as she got to the edge of the stone stage and made an attempt to drag her away. It took a second two to intervene before they could grab her and start lugging her backwards, her flailing humiliating her to no end in between the rows of people she had bullied and threatened throughout her life. I certainly wasn't the only one laughing.

"Oh, what in…" Auriel began questioning, noticing the Peacekeepers dragging Deur away and her screeching obscenities of 'that fucking bitch stole my place'. The academy mentors looked thoroughly disapproving too, but everyone else was too busy laughing to care. Auriel was the last one to work it out. "Oh…" She exclaimed, turning towards Giada, then back to Deur. "Scandal!"

It took a short while for everything to quieten down, but people were anxious to see the boy volunteer. To see _me_ volunteer. I braced myself for a speedier emergence than Deur. I wouldn't be having _anyone_ stealing my spot.

"Jet Peridot." She called, making me smile affectionately as I thought of the boy with his eyes so like his surname. It couldn't have been better even if it was a story.

"I volunteer!" I called, moving through the crowd at a near-sprint to get into the isle and lock eyes with Auriel, knowing that she needed to see me first. She did.

I felt my ego swell a little as I walked to the stage climbing the stairs stoically, putting my umbrella down as we reached the covered area, giving me freedom to politely shake Auriel's hand, before looking out of the crowd, trying to find Jet and make him blush one last time before I was returned as a Victor.

"Well here we are…" She smiled and looked between Giada and myself. "Our two wonderful tributes. Giada and…" She turned to me with the microphone.

"Narce Valentine."

"Giada and Narce. Let's have a great big round of applause for our two brilliant tributes!"

People clapped and cheered, a few notably stoic silences in the front row of the boys, but I couldn't have cared less about them. I turned before I could spot Jet, facing Giada with my hand outstretched. When we watched the other Reapings from outlying Districts, they had to be reminded to do the handshake. For us it was second nature.

I took her slender hands with a firm grip, meeting her blue eyes with my own, before I gave her hand a solid shake.

She would be an interesting partner, for sure.

* * *

 **Giada Beauchamp**

 **Eighteen Years Old, Female, District One**

* * *

I was smug, it had to be said.

The look on her fat little face when she realised that I was on that stage first. If only I had been able to take a picture. In fact, it would be on film for the whole of Panem to see.

What do you know; Deur would be famous for something after all.

I was sat in one of the rooms in the Mayors house, on a small velvet chair with a mahogany backrest. I was very comfortable with my position, my clarinet case over my shoulder and a confident smile on my face. My District partner wasn't hard to look at either; I contemplated asking him to do a false romance with me. Or maybe even a real one…

My thought process was broken as my Mother walked into the room, the Peacekeeper opening the door telling her that we had three minutes.

"Giada!" She opened with a much tarter tone than I would have hoped for, walking in with my Father and Sister close behind. "What do you think you were doing?" She snapped, looking positively aghast. "This behaviour reflects badly on _all_ of us! What do you think…" She continued ranting until my Father stepped in with his warm yet dominating tone.

"I think you are going to do a wonderful job sweetheart." He told me with a small smile, his slightly greying hair unmoving as he walked over to me and enveloped me a tight hug from his strong arms, much like he had when I was a young girl. "You're a much better choice than that oaf that was stomping along behind you."

"I…" Mother spluttered for a second, before her face became softer after catching eyes with my Father. They swapped a look that I failed to see. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry dear, I was thinking about myself." She returned with a small smile. "You'll do a fantastic job, the Capitol will love you and you will get _so_ many sponsors…"

I bathed in their praises, ignoring my side-eyeing Sister who has never liked me ever since I decided to pursue my musical endeavours, leaving her to be the one to inherit the family business. She could sit and scowl all she liked; _she_ could stay behind when I moved up to Victor's village.

They continued coddling and praising me for a little longer, both hugging me tightly before they were called out to leave. They both gave me a goodbye kiss and my Sister half-heartedly wished me good luck after being told to, before they were ushered out of the room.

I barely got a second to breathe before the next person was shoved in, my best friend, Amethyst. She looked irked.

"You should have told me." She said bluntly, standing stubbornly with her hands on her hips and a sad expression on her face.

"I didn't even know until the Reaping…" I justified myself, beginning to get annoyed until I noticed the tears brewing in the corner of her eyes. "I just _couldn't_ let Deur go up there… She'd have been too heavy, slowed down the trains. It would have been chaos." I deflected her sorrow onto a topic that was easier to talk about. Certainly much _more_ to talk about, anyway.

"Gosh I will miss you…" She breathed in return, wiping a tear from her eye. "You better win, you know that right? You can't leave me here with all of the unartistic brutes, who will all be bitter that they didn't get into the games." She added with a watery smile. "Not to mention dumpy-Deur."

I returned it with a booming laugh at the childhood nickname, and went back in for a hug.

We chatted a little more, commented on Narce with a few positive things to say, before she was taken away by the Peacekeepers with a final hug and a goodbye. I suddenly had a cold, bitter sensation in my gut.

Did I make a mistake? What if I didn't see my parents again, or Amethyst… She was the only person who understood how important it was to be artistic and to embrace your creative side… I felt a tear well up in my eye, before I reaffirmed myself.

No.

Fame was more important than any of that. Embracing your creative side was fruitless if you didn't get famous. The arena was the easy way to fame.

"You have three minutes…"

I heard the voice and wondered who else was visiting me, turning to face them as I felt a cold grimace hit my face and I just about managed to scream.

"Guards!" I yelled at the top of my voice before I felt a driving force slam into me and take me to the floor with a frenzied grunt. Her fat limbs straddled me and she primed a punch to my face. I had no chance of moving anywhere with her enormous mass pinning my legs and I barely got a chance to breathe before she swung at me.

Deur.

"You _bitch_!" She wailed like an angered bull, my jaw thudding with overwhelming pain as I tasted the uncomfortable warmth of copper in my mouth. "You stole my fucking place!" She roared again, priming for another swing, making me shut my eyes before her screeching noises were replaced by a slightly different tone. The side of my face stung so much that it was a struggle to open my left eye, but I managed to, seeing her being dragged and beaten brutally to the ground by a group of armed Peacekeepers.

"I'm going to watch you die you whore!" She screeched as she wallowed, the Peacekeepers cuffing her hands behind her back as she wallowed on the marble floor like the pig she was. I scrambled to my feet against the insults, staggering a little in my shoes as she continued to list off all of the ways I was going to die.

"She should be shot!" I shouted at the Peacekeepers who were restraining her, who were all but ignoring me and the blood that I could feel spitting from my Mouth as I spoke. "She's an animal! Whip her till her skin comes off!" I continued to shout in anger as they hauled the shrieking mammoth by the feet like a caught fish, dragging her along the marble floor in a fashion that would be most comical if she hadn't just smacked me.

I felt myself growling with fury.

Then I heard her angry roaring dissolve into a feeble wailing from along the corridor. Her voice was so crushed and defeated…

I let myself smile at that.

* * *

 **Narce Valentine**

 **Eighteen Years Old, Male, District One**

* * *

"It sounds like it is _all_ going on next door!" Jet chuckled as he admired the items on the mantelpiece of the room, whilst I perched on the edge of a chair and looked out of the window.

Two of my more regular clients had visited me first, both asking for final showings which I refused. I was waiting to see my Mother, she had been working all day and I hadn't seen her at the Reaping. Jet's presence wasn't really what I wanted. He was there for himself because he had the hots for me. I would have much preferred to give up his three minutes and give them to my Mother.

"Don't get too comfortable…" I warned him as he flopped down on the leather sofa against the wall, with a big grin on his handsome face, his vividly green eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I'm just testing out what seat I'm gonna sit on next year. It's a Quell remember so I'll end up more famous than you." He was trying to be joking and teasing to hide his real feelings for me. I had returned them earlier but now… I didn't feel quite so joyous.

I wanted to compete, and that desire had not changed. But now I was significantly more aware of the fact that there _was_ a chance, however small, that I _wouldn't_ be coming home. It made me feel a little melancholy about the whole affair.

"Time's up." The Peacekeeper called, and it felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. He was a nice guy, but he was exhausting and I really wanted to be with my Mother. I stood up out of respect for him, and he opened his arm out for a hug. It was tight and crushing and his jagged breathing told me that he didn't want me to go.

"Survive. Okay?" He told me with a serious voice that seemed unnatural on him. "Give me a tough act to follow."

"I will." I returned with a pat on his back, separating the hug and noticing his glance down towards my lips. I turned away, avoiding his obvious desire; it was the most humane thing to do. I didn't want a promise like that lingering over my head before the Games.

I faced the window and refused to see him go; only turning back when my Mother walked in.

"Darling…" She walked over and took my hand tightly. "I am so proud of you…" She seemed teary as she spoke, she was trying to remain strong but she wasn't doing a great job of it. "I love you so much my boy. My handsome boy."

"Please, promise." I began, looking her in the eyes with a stalwart expression on my face. "If I don't come back, find yourself a new man, you know Mr Burberry has had his eyes on you for a while and now you don't have any excuse." I reminded her of one of the store's most regular patrons, the owner of a gemstone mine and a very rich man that often awkwardly flirted over the till. I didn't want her to be alone.

"Oh now there's no need to say things like that…" She began, but I had to interrupt her.

"Mother please, I can't stand the thought of you being alone…" I began, before that 'nice' part of me stabbed me with a little needle of guilt. "If you ever need a hand with anything, ask Jet… I'm sure he'll be happy to help."

She gave me this sad little smile that damn near broke my heart, but she agreed. I was terrified about her not being able to cope after. She was a strong woman but I was all she had.

But at the end of the day, the Games were just that. Games. They had one winner. And I was going to be that winner.

We sat and talked for a few more minutes, she kept my hand in hers as we did so, the small smile never leaving her face and almost making me blush from its consistency. However, the Peacekeeper eventually called her too and she gave me one final kiss before she was taken from the room. I felt my insides twist and constrict, before eventually I managed to swallow down my emotions. After all, it was _her_ I was fighting for. One of the reasons at least.

I was sat on my own for a little while longer before one of the Peacekeepers came to collect me. Giada was collected as well, nursing a split lip and a nastily bruised face. It looked as though the mystery of the source of the noise had been revealed; there was only one person who would have been stupid enough to do that.

She was stoically silent as we were walked through the halls of the Mayor's mansion, and I was happy to follow in suit, only making eye contact with her as we were ushered out to the Escort's car, where I held the door open to her as any courteous male would. We both sat in the sickly-smelling vehicle with slight unease. I recognised _District 1_ in the air, but it wasn't my Mother's brand. It was one of the cheaper ones that clung to surfaces like a fragrant parasite and refused to relent its overpowering smell.

The Escort however, was nowhere to be seen.

I sighed, slouching down in the leather seat and trying to only breathe through my mouth. I had a sinking feeling that it wouldn't be a short wait.

* * *

 **Giada Beauchamp**

 **Eighteen Years Old, Female, District One**

* * *

His breathing was so heavy that I thought it was bound to rattle the windows of the vehicle. When I first saw the boy I assumed he would be dignified, he was lithe and courteous, not like a lot of the boys from the academy. But the more time I spent with him the more I changed my mind.

At first I thought he had been unfortunately caught in the rain, but apparently his shirt was translucent and it was easy to see his dark nipples and the contours of his abdomen. It wasn't an unappealing sight, but it threw my idea of asking about 'performing' a romance out of the window. He looked as though he was going to do a romance with everybody in the arena, dressed as he was, let alone the fact that his acting ability would no doubt be as poor as his lung capacity.

"Seriously, what is with you?" I finally snapped, irritated to my wits end by his rasping breath. Only after the words had left my Mouth did I realise how ridiculous I must have sounded, my fat lip making me lisp and slur like some outlying miscreant.

"Me…" He replied with a sarcastic twinge to his voice. I could tell he was gagging to make fun of me, to insult my wound, to mock me like the talentless weasel he was. I waited patiently for it, but he never said anything more, just a light scoff before he returned to his window-gazing and heavy breathing.

"Seriously!" I snapped again, a minute or so later after the huffing noise drove me to my wits end once more. "If you've got asthma you've volunteered for the wrong game!" I slurred again, trying my best to not sound ridiculous with the handkerchief pressed to my lip. His reply, again, was a scoff, before he leaned forwards and actually looked engaged.

"So what's your weapon of choice? We might as well get to know each other now that we're here." He told me with a quiet expression on his face. He was difficult to work out. He wasn't very open and it made me doubt even more that he would consider a staged relationship with me. Not that I wanted to anyway.

I sighed, which came out as a most disgruntled sound with my injury. I decided to answer his question.

"I'm good with smaller blades, one in each hand." I told him the best I could, trying my best to avoid any 's's' in the words I used. Smaller was unfortunate. Why hadn't I studied a battle-axe or something? "Kunai preferably."

He nodded in reception to what I had said, as if he was analysing my fighting ability as we spoke. His reply took a while and I wondered if I was going to have to force it out of him. He did tell me, at last, though he still hadn't revealed the reason behind his labouring breaths.

"I'm a force of nature with my falchion, but I guess I'd settle for any short-sword with a curve." He revealed to me, reminding me of a time I _had_ seen him training. He span like a dancer doing a waltz with his weapon drawn, it was actually demonstrative of a little talent. But an insignificant amount of course. "And if I get my hands on a toma-…" He continued to elaborate, before the door swung open and Auriel climbed into the back of the vehicle looking ever so slightly flustered.

"Honestly!" She exclaimed to us both, sitting in the seat opposite the pair of us as she rapped on the window separating us and the driver, signalling him to drive and send myself and Narce slugging backwards in our seats with the sudden momentum. "I cannot _believe_ what absolute savagery that girl conducted!"

My ears pricked up when I realised that she was bound to be talking about Deur.

"And from District One of all places! Well, I said to him, I said 'I might as well be in District Twelve!'." She vented to us both, though I didn't fully understand what part of the story she was talking about; it was a little overwhelming. "And you will not believe what he said back, oh no. He said 'with all due respect…' And I could not believe that he was trying to defend that wretched creature. So I said to him, I said, 'If she was prepared to take her fat hand to one of _my_ tributes, then she would absolutely have to pay the price.'."

"The price…" Narce asked, looking about as overwhelmed as I felt. Not only had the woman almost given us whiplash, but she had neither introduced herself nor calmly explained the circumstance. Of course, aside from the fact her outfit was garish, with yellow ruffled feathers all around and a black lace-up bodice and yellow trimming and laces making her look like an angry wasp, which is exactly what we seemed to be facing. But if Deur was suffering a punishment for hitting me, _I_ wanted to know.

"Punishment?" She lightly scoffed, suddenly a lot bubblier and calmer than before. "Well the _fitting_ punishment for _anyone_ who were to strike a tribute." She looked cheerful at her statement, but obviously Narce's face was as perplexed as mine, so she elaborated. "She is already in Capitol custody. She'll be an Avox before the week is up. The new Head Gamemaker made it very clear that disrespect towards tributes will. Not. Be. Tolerated." Her tone was as happy as I was to find out that the fat oaf of a woman who punched me would be a tongueless accessory to the Capitol before the week was done. Narce on the other hand seemed less than thrilled.

"New Head Gamemaker?" He asked, somewhat quietly, notably picking out the less important information as opposed to the punishment of _my_ assaulter.

"Lucretia Cachexia…" Auriel's eyes seemed to glisten as she spoke. "She is such a figure in the Capitol. When it was announced that _she_ was going to be the new Head Gamemaker I fell right out of my chair!" She seemed positively giddy. "She's been a model and a stylist and she is the Editor of _Capitol Couture_ and I have _never_ missed an issue. Oh my goodness she has promised such a show…"

She continued rambling but I tuned out of her words. 'Such a show'.

Those words weren't ones of comfort.

'Such a show' didn't mean good things at all.

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

* * *

 _ **So my first reaping, thank you very much to the submitters for these two tributes and I hope you felt that I have done them justice.**_

 _ **Now, what do people think about the tributes?**_

 _ **Giada?**_

 _ **Narce?**_

 _ **Please let me know in a review :D**_

 _ **Now, que Panem Anthem:**_

* * *

 **District Details**

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Arizel Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male:

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: (1 submission)

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male:

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 1

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: (1 Submission)

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female:

Male: (1 submission)

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female: (1 submission)

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female:

Male:

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male:


	4. Chapter Two: Superiority

_**I thought I would treat people to an earlier update this week, as I've been gifted with some amazing tributes and these two are from two particularly brilliant authors, so I don't want to keep them waiting.**_

 _ **I can only hope that I have done justice to these two, they were both incredible submissions with so much detail that I was really worried about not doing them the justice they deserved. Hopefully everyone likes them.**_

 _ **Again, my submissions will be a little erratic, I try to write in the evenings but if I am not in the mood I can't force it otherwise I am not doing justice to the tributes I have been given. When I update I do try to make them quite long so at least you're waiting for a longer chapter as opposed to waiting two weeks for like a thousand words.**_

 _ **As usual, this story will contain strong language, violence, scenes of sexual nature, possible triggers and flashing images.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 _Superiority_

* * *

 **Arizel Thymscar**

 **17 years old, Female, District Two**

* * *

I knew that she was trying to be kind, trying to be supportive in a motherly way. I _did_ appreciate her efforts; I _knew_ how much she wanted to make up for it… But I could never get over the fact that _she_ was the very reason that my _real_ Mother was dead. Whenever I looked at her, the only thought that ran through my mind was that, if she had been paying more attention, maybe the accident would never have happened. I saw the guilt in her eyes; I knew it hurt her too. But at the same time, she swept in _so_ quickly to comfort Father after the accident… She must have known what it would have looked like…

But she did it regardless, and Father fell for it anyway.

My train of thought had distracted me from the important task at hand, arranging my Reaping outfit. Thesrell had picked out a summery dress for me, short, but not in a sultry way, with a lace up back and an almost white colouring that made my light olive skin look much darker than it was. She'd also put out a slate-grey neck-scarf with a pair of low heels. It wasn't what I would have chosen myself, but nor did I want to make such an obvious insult to her. I had been debating the pros and cons for almost half an hour and I _really_ needed to come to a decision.

In the end, as guilty as I felt, I returned the dress to the cupboard neatly. But the second the hook of the hangar clipped against the metal clothes-rail inside, a pang of guilt stabbed me in the gut like a knife. I huffed, before taking the outfit she had chosen back out. Iguessed that it would still look good. At least _I_ didn't have to worry about choosing one myself. I was never great at dressing to impress.

District Two were lucky in the regard that our Reaping had been moved to the evening, rather than early morning, giving everyone time to be leisurely and courteous about it. Of course, people in District Two tended not to worry about the Reaping anyway. Usually people knew in advance who the volunteer tribute was going to be, as selected by the mentors at the academy, and as far as anyone could remember there had never _not_ been a volunteer. It was the strongest candidate, the wisest, and the most likely to bring us another proud victory, it was usually an eighteen year old, but sometimes they chose younger. This year, however, the mentors hadn't selected a girl.

There were only about three eighteen year old girls at my academy for this Reaping, one of them was certainly only there because her parents wanted her to be, good, but was never going to go for the Reaping. Another was only there for the boys, again, good, but had no intention of being good enough to get selected. And the third one simply wasn't very talented; she put in a lot of effort, but she just wasn't up to the standard that she should have been after her years of training. Apparently the same thing went for the other academies in the District as well. It seemed that the year of the 80th Hunger Games hadn't been very popular year to reproduce.

The seventeen year old girls however, my year, had a lot more competition than the year above us. In my academy alone there were thirty four girls competing. The classes got smaller over the years, as people dropped out or were asked to leave, but my year was still one of the biggest. Since there were so many of us, it would have taken too long to arrange the final assessments for _two_ year groups; so instead, they left the girls Reaping open.

It was fine by me, I was happy to wait until next year, finish off my training and have the best chance of success. Not to mention that winning a Quarter Quell was an honour that District Two did not yet hold. Of course, with a glaive in my hands I had a pretty amazing chance at success anyway. _Attica_ on the other hand… _She_ was practically scratching at the walls for a chance to volunteer. _She_ was well suited for the games, cruel, unfeeling, selfish, unemotional, calloused… The down side would be that the Gamemakers would probably be forced to kill her off before long; after all, it wouldn't be right to have an insane girl win.

I smiled to myself, before I took a look in the mirror.

Thesrell hadn't made a bad choice. I actually looked quite good. I smiled and reminded myself to _try_ and thank my Stepmother for the outfit. The finishing touch was my hair, which always took a while. Luckily that had been the first thing I had done when I had started getting ready, assembling it into my 'Reaping updo' which replaced the usual messy bun I would use the rest of the year round.

My updo was a refreshing style in comparison to my Sisters. Attica would forever have her hair down, her thick wavy locks always hitting the middle of her back, whilst Azalea just copied her. I needed something to set myself apart from the bitch and her minion. Other than the fact that I was the triplet that people _respected_. The one that people _liked_. Outside of bed at least…

Thinking of my two siblings made me want to stay in my room until they left the house, but much to my displeasure, I didn't have the time to do that.

I had one more person to see.

I stepped into my shoes and walked into the hallway, shutting my bedroom door behind me and locking it aggressively. I didn't trust Attica not to be pathetic and juvenile. Especially considering how desperate she was to volunteer. There were many far more worthy candidates in our District and she would never get the spot. She would be in a foul mood when she got home, and I was the closest one to take it out on.

As I climbed down the stairs and glanced into the kitchen, I saw the pair of them both disrespectfully eating the food that Thesrell had prepared for the Reaping celebrations that evening, Attica with that typical analytical expression on her face, looking at the food like she was victimising it. She was dressed like a harlot, with a short grey skirt, a thin leather belt and an almost sheer blouse; I didn't know who she thought she was; she looked like she should be stood outside of a brothel in District Six. We all heard the rumours about what _that place_ was like.

Azalea wasn't quite as bad, with her skirt coming to at least her mid-thigh, though she was also wearing stockings underneath. However her cold stare was the thing that caused my problems, flicking over to the front door just as I was preparing to open it, catching me in her snare-like vision. Her blank face flinched into a scowl.

"Don't you look, pathetic." Attica's sharp voice called out just as I was reaching for the door handle, making me sigh with irritation. I had hoped to get out without dealing with them. Attica was usually so self-involved and Azalea was usually so quiet that between the two of them they didn't notice much else. Azalea didn't make any comments, but she pulled a twisted smirk that agreed with her sibling.

"Don't you look like someone the Mayor would rent by-the-hour." I scoffed in return, keeping my hand poised on the doorknob in preparation for her to fly into one of her rages. I didn't want to have to deal with her drama right now.

She was most likely dressed like the harlot she was, to try and impress the male tribute, if she _were_ to get the chance to volunteer. Our full, peachy lips and smooth cheeks had gotten all three of us some attention over the years, but I had never stooped to her level. She often wore minimal clothes to the academy, trying to make herself more noticeable. She got more attention than I did.

But then _I_ never tried.

She tried to pine for the boys older than us, which is most likely what she was doing wearing her skimpy outfit on Reaping day. Even though there weren't that many of them in my academy, were all pretty ferocious; it was smart to try and catch one in a honey-trap if she was planning to volunteer. Smart for _her_ at least. Each of the academies had their own assessments, the winner of which then went off to the final evaluation. But I knew who went to the final from _our_ academy.

He was somewhat of a maverick, always going against what the trainers told him to do and deliberately aggravating people for some sort of kick. He could go from being stoically silent and moody in the corner of the room, to the centre of attention in a heartbeat. I had spoken with him a few times; he was a brute. But a brute who could look at me with his near-grey eyes and somehow make me blush. I think he knew it; it was a power trip and nothing else.

I still rooted for him though. He broke conventions and went against most of what the trainers said. But he was still one of the best competitors I had ever seen from my academy. Attica had never taken much notice of him; knowing her it was because she thought he was cowardly by using a ranged weapon. In all the games we watched, the District Two males always used close combat as their preferred choice. A bow, by comparison, seemed feeble.

But I had seen him hit a target in the head one hundred times.

Nobody had been so skilled with a bow since the 74th Hunger Games. I sneered a little. An outlier won the games, a moody girl from District Twelve who wreaked havoc in the arena. I had heard a rumour she had gone a little mad; she killed her District Partner when she dropped a nest of tracker jackers where he was sleeping, despite apparent romantic confessions from him. She struggled alone through the arena for a while, luckily avoiding the boy from my District when he spotted the girl from Eleven running from the scene.

In the end, Twelve skulked and hunted through the arena, killing all of the remaining threats with the skill of a formidable huntress. They played footage from those games almost _every_ year. I tried to hate her, but I had to accept her skill. After all, she had killed a quarter of the tributes herself. I could begrudgingly accept it, but Attica never could.

"Why don't you come here and say that to me again, _Sis'_?" The girl in question seethed, standing up and digging her fingers into the lacquered wood of the table with a ruthless scowl on her face. I huffed out a breath in response; she _was_ in one of her moods. Nerves from the Reaping, I expected.

"I'd love to, but I'm the only one in this family who seems to pay any respect to _our_ Mother…" I retorted with a blank expression, pulling a bunch of flowers out of one of Thesrell's vases and marching out of the door without another word. It was only after I had slammed it shut and walked half way down the drive, that I realised I hadn't finished my sentence, but I shrugged it off.

Visiting Mother was more important on Reaping day.

I put on a watery smile, before walking in the direction of the graveyard.

* * *

 **Quirinius Crayton**

 **18 years old, Male, District Two**

* * *

"You don't think that you'd fancy… Y'know, getting ready?" Saturn asked again, the fifth time that he had asked me in the last ten minutes. The fifth different _way_ he had asked, in the last ten minutes. Different wording, inflection, emphasis… He was nothing if not persistent. That and irritating.

Unfortunately, neither of his key qualities were helping my concentration.

Having dozens of other potential volunteers in the room was one thing. Their collective chatter, shouting, grunting and arguing droned up into a crescendo of white noise that I could block out as one existential mass. However when it was just Saturn with his infuriating, apparent pre-pubescent, high pitched, 'my balls haven't dropped even though I'm eighteen', voice… It was so much more infuriating.

Once I had made it clear that I was ignoring him, with a soft turn of my head and a lazy glare, I tightened my arm once again. The bowstring was biting my fingers with its tautness; the metallic arms bent enough to really require all of the force from my muscles. My teeth were gritted, my eyes tightened, my arms trembling… I was a breath away from sending the arrow deep into the swinging training dummy, my line of sight perfectly lined up against the mannequins featureless face. I breathed…

"I was gonna wear…"

I released with my breath, the arrow soaring through the air with a piercing drone, thudding into the shoulder of the grey mannequin and making it flail about manically on the chain it was attached to. The irritating rattling of the chain however was nothing when compared to Saturn's voice cutting through my ears like a screeching Mutt in a poorly designed arena. I threw the bow to the floor with a violent clatter in fury.

"I don't give a fuck what you're wearing you mongrel!" I snapped at him, swinging around and levelling him down with my shadow blue eyes and a snarl on my lips. "You made me fucking miss!" He looked pretty blank at my words. He was used to it by now; I wasn't bound by the societal etiquette that most of the District stuck by. If someone acted like an idiot I'd call them one and that would be that.

"I'm sorry…" He muttered satirically. "Remember to ask the other tributes to keep quiet when you're shooting at them too."

"They won't be going on about their fucking clothes though!" I snapped back, gritting my teeth again in the waste of my final arrow. It would be the last one I would shoot until I got to the Capitol, and because of Saturn it wasn't even in the head. I had hit that same mannequin square in the face half a dozen times in a row and because of one squeaky boy, I broke that record. "Fucking idiot…"

I moved passed him moodily, feeling too lazy to be dramatic and angry about it, and making a move back to the entrance to the Academy training Centre that I had been walking through five days a week at least, for the past ten years. No more. I didn't need to train again, not here. It was the Capitol next.

"I'm happy to take your place if you've lost confidence."

My laugh was booming in the deserted entrance hall, it echoed from the high ceilings and back down again. He gave me a flat little glare from his honey coloured eyes, but I just shook my head in amusement. He could never take _my_ place. There were probably twelve year olds at the Academy who could beat him in a fight. And _he_ had been going to the muscle work sessions that I had been skipping over the years. Pathetic.

"You didn't even make it through the sparring." I reminded him, making him turn his head away slightly with a thoroughly irritated expression on his face. It had been embarrassing. He had been paired with the guy from the Academy who was useless, the one who had rich parents who coddled and babied him and told him how talented he was on every day that parents visited to watch training. He couldn't say boo to a goose. Yet somehow he managed to not only punch Saturn square in the nose, but to completely overpower him and knock him on his arse.

Saturn was removed from consideration after that.

"Fighting's not my thing." He grunted with irritation, storming past and towards the exit with heavy-footed steps. "If I'd been born in Three I'd be crushing guys like you." He returned, making me let out a booming laugh once again.

"Kid you _exist_ for guys like me."

"Well, I'll remember how little you think of me next time you need a lock picked." He returned with his back to me, with this frightful little tremble at the end of his sentence like an offended little girl.

"There won't _be_ a next time." I told him forcefully, but he was out of the door without even bothering with a reply.

Pussy.

Saturn, like most other people, were far too easily hurt. They were just fucking words. I hadn't hit him, hell I hadn't so much as flicked him, yet he was acting like I had shot him through the kneecap with a barbed tipped arrow. It wasn't the first argument I had had with him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He usually worked out how much of a wimp he was being and came back soon enough.

I wished he was more like Glacia. She was good at training, hell she could have easily got the girl's spot if she had tried. But she didn't want to be in the games, and always underperformed in the final assessments just enough to stop her from reaching the top spots. But she had a family to support and they didn't earn much working the quarry, so she knew she needed to get a job and help them. I guess I respected that.

She joined the Academy to have fun and to get some guys. She knew what she wanted and took it. Personally I thought she should have forgotten about what her family wanted and just gone for it, but I could sort of understand where she was coming from.

But I certainly didn't agree.

My family where the opposite, they always tried to steer me in the direction that they wanted. All they went on about for years were manners and behaviour and do's and don'ts and I got tired with it. It took them years to work out that I didn't care, and that I'd eat my food with my hands and I'd bite my nails and I'd run in the kitchen if I damn well wanted to. They got it eventually.

They were so bloody relieved when I said that I wanted to join the Academy. But then of course, after a few terms there, when I had settled down on using the bow, they were mortified. Suddenly for my birthday they bought me an expensive training spear to 'encourage' me to use it, and when we sat down as a family and watched past seasons of the Hunger Games over dinner, they would always compliment the strong District Two males using spears and javelins to murder their competition.

Eventually, they stopped pressuring me. And I got good, quick. I 'opted out' of most of the strength building and muscle development to practice with the bow instead; most of the Games I had watched has seen a more muscular and powerful tribute get overwhelmed by a smaller and faster opponent. After all, it didn't matter how muscular you were, all it took was one speedy thrust with a knife and you were done. The trainers tried to complain to my Parents, but by that point they were just happy I was training at all.

And then, on my assessment day, I proved my knowledge right in the sparring, and by this point I didn't miss a target; I usually got them right in the face.

I saw some of them gritting their teeth when I was announced as the volunteer for the 99th Hunger Games. The fame and fortune and glory falling into my lap as it rightfully should have. Having said that, even if they'd have picked someone else, all that mattered was who got to the stage first. The trainers, Escort, the Mayor, they were just advisors really, what they said didn't _actually_ matter.

But the Reaping claxon, on the other hand, _did_ matter.

It went off as I was walking away from the academy; about five minutes after Saturn had run away like a girl. I felt the tiniest fleck of guilt after that. But I dismissed it quickly.

Saturn was the sort of guy who came from the sort of family who absolutely _had to_ dress up for the Reaping. He had been dressed semi smart when I had persuaded him to pick the lock on the Academy door for me and he had still been in the same outfit when he left. It was smarter than what I would be wearing. Yet _of course_ he had to be wearing his absolute best. He cared about fashion more than most girls. He got very excited about the Reaping to see what the Escort would be wearing.

I _did_ wonder about him sometimes…

I had no such concerns. I was wearing a sleeveless vest that showed up the muscularity in my arms well, with a pair of close fitting trousers that I had only kept because they accented my crotch pretty well.

I didn't bother with dressing fancy and smart; the Capitol got enough of that from District One every year. When they saw _me_ for the first time, swaggering onto the stage with all of my confidence, they were going to be seeing me. Not some force-smiled illusion that had been dressed up by his parents in his finery that he wore once a year, with an extra special speech prepared and a well quiffed head of hair. They would see a confident man, wearing clothes he had trained in, his lean muscles still glistening with sweat, his short undercut hair swept to one side of his head in convenience and nothing else.

That is the man the Capitol would see when _I_ volunteered.

As usual, the queues were ridiculously long to get into the central square of the District. But nobody really cared when I pushed in front of them. The older volunteers got respect, and although people didn't all know _who_ the volunteer that year would be, they all knew there had been one chosen. As such, they liked to make sure everyone older than themselves got better treatment.

After all, if I was mentoring one of these brats in a few years-time and they had kicked up a fuss about me cutting in, they wouldn't be getting far in their arena.

The sour-faced woman pricked my finger and took a blood sample, before I walked passed the line of Peacekeepers and into the walled-off square. It was walled off, because three of the four sides of the square had tiered seating, like an amphitheatre. A stadium. When I watched the Reapings in Twelve and Nine I always found it laughable that they had so few people huddled in their little town squares, even with all of their families coming to watch too. The entire population of Twelve and Nine would have fit in our town square with room to spare. We filled it to capacity and there was always a lot of pushing and shoving from the standing section. Our families watched from big projections outside or at home.

The sheer size of our District demonstrated our superiority. _My_ superiority.

As the area filled up, the stands getting swarmed by twelve, thirteen, fourteen and fifteen year olds, whilst sixteen, seventeen and eighteen year olds stood, with the eighteen year olds closest to the stage, I felt a swell of pride. I had beaten out _everybody_ else in the stadium. I had been chosen above them all to be the Volunteer. That thought kept me blissfully in thought as the Mayor began his usual speech, talking about why the war started, which I never quite understood, and where we had come from, which I had never bothered to understand. I couldn't care. It had happened. It was done.

I looked to the future.

The Escort was next, as usual. Cordelia was dressed extravagantly once again, with a long bloom of blue material bursting out of her waistband and spanning the entire length of the mayor's stage leading into the building behind her, the doors of which were forced to remain open because of the length. I was sure Saturn would be giddy with excitement, but I started to limber up. It wasn't unheard of here for people to get violent. It usually only happened if a tribute wasn't chosen, like with the girls this year, but I wasn't taking any chances…

"We will begin, as always…" She haughtily explained to us, after emotionally recovering from the video we got every year, a long dwindling piece about war and Panem that I hadn't paid attention to once. "With the women."

Her fingers swept the glass bowl containing all the names of the girls in the District, hovering like a bird of prey above its meal. The girls' names were more important than ever, without a selected volunteer, and from my memory, a fairly meagre pool of eighteen year olds to choose from, it could be interesting. Hell, there was always a chance there _wouldn't_ be a volunteer. It was a Quell next year so a lot of the seventeen year olds would be saving themselves for that.

I gritted my teeth.

If I got stuck with a twelve year old I'd throw them off of the train.

"Arizel Thymscar!"

My ears perked up, my head turning to the seventeen year old section in apprehension and amusement. I knew the Thymscar triplets. Everyone did. Especially any straight guy. After all, it was three identical girls who were all pretty damn hot. It was practically a fantasy come to life, apart from the fact that two of them were infamous for being utter bitches and the third was the most non-sexual person I'd ever met. I could never tell them apart. To me they were 'Loud', 'Quiet' and 'Bun'. Bun was the non-sexual one, but I noticed that if I stared at her for long enough, she'd start blushing.

It happened every time, like clockwork.

And sure enough, Bun was the one who walked out from the bunch of Seventeen year olds, walking to the stage pretty confidently for someone Reaped. She looked like a Mother, dressed how she was, with a white-ish dress and a grey scarf that made her look like she should have been taking blood outside of the arena.

For a moment, I was wondering whether my Quell hypothesis had been correct, that Bun, Arizel, would be my District partner. But then, as she was climbing the steps, my doubts were removed.

"I volunteer!"

The voice was smug and somewhat irritating. I turned to see and I froze, just like Arizel had done.

It was Loud. Her Sister.

* * *

 **Arizel Thymscar**

 **17 years old, Female, District Two**

* * *

I was stood uncomfortably, my body trembling from a number of factors: the anticipation of being Reaped, the strain of holding the position half way through climbing a staircase and the sight of Attica stood in the aisle, staring at me with her disgustingly evil grin.

I had to make a quick decision.

I had rationalised myself by this point. I was more than capable to go into the arena and fight, my weapon skills were top class and I knew enough about survival to not need to worry. Even missing the Quell had advantages; the lack of interest in this game meant the competition would be fierce, not to mention that the Quells were usually considerably harder.

The 25th wasn't so bad, it decreed that the Districts had to select the Volunteer, a practice we had continued to use.

But the 50th had used double the number of tributes and the arena had been deadly, it was chaotic and the bloodshed was extreme. An outlier had one those games, Twelve at that. It just showed that in some circumstances even the outliers had a good chance to win. The 75th had been one of the worst, apparently there had been some growing unrest in some of the Districts, and as such, 'to represent the cost of war on the innocent' if a tribute died in the arena, their immediate family were executed. Even in my view, it had been extreme.

Yet, since then, _that_ President had passed away, and the new one was more generous with the Districts. At least that was the rumour. I grimaced again, watching Attica slowly walk towards me. The Quell rules had been written _years_ ago, the same person who wrote that 'families would be executed' had written whatever would be occurring next year. I had to make a decision quickly.

I also _had_ to wipe that grin off of my Sister's face.

"I reject her volunteering." I said, to the Escort first, who looked a little dazzled by my comment. It hadn't been done before. I quickly walked up the rest of the steps and got to the microphone in the centre of the stage. "I reject my volunteer!" I called out, watching the crowd begin to murmur as my Sister slowed down, her face twisting into a scowl of fury.

"Oh I…" Cordelia struggled, looking around for help on the matter. "Mayor?"

No.

I was not going to let Attica get into the arena. Not over me. It would have cemented every time she called me a name, every time she threatened me, pulled my hair, tripped me up, broke my belongings, insulted me in public, humiliated me… I would not let her win this too.

I was panicking when I walked over to the bowl with the boys names, putting my hand in a plucking one out at random, before walking back over to Cordelia and tried to put it into her hands. I knew that once the boy had been read, the girl was cemented, that was how it worked. That was what needed to happen.

"Now just wait a moment dear…" She shushed me, instead focusing on the Mayor and trying to find an answer from him. Attica by now was only a few steps from the stairs and judging from her face it would get violent. I didn't care about that. But there was no way I would be letting her take _my_ place.

That morning I hadn't even wanted it. Yet when I got face to face with how much I would lose if Attica was the tribute, let alone if she somehow _won_. My life wouldn't be worth living. She was older than me by a few seconds and she had used that as an excuse to boss me around all my life. Not this time.

Somehow I wasn't even thinking that I could probably have been avoxed for what I was about to do.

No.

The Capitol liked spunky tributes.

"Leo Var…" I read into the microphone, ripping open the paper slip in my hands as I trembled so much from the adrenaline that I threatened to throw the slip into the crowd.

"My goodness, what do you…?" Cordelia chimed from somewhere behind me, but not before a male voice from the front row boomed.

"I volunteer!"

He wasn't that tall compared to some of the boys, taller than some but not remarkably so. He was leaner than the others as well, his sleeveless top showing off his toned arms as he swaggered out and overtook Attica with his amused expression. I half scowled and half smiled, before I realised what I had done.

I had been so hung up on not letting Attica compete, that I had just thrown myself into the arena without much thought. And of course, my District partner was the man whom made me blush when he looked at me in the Academy, the one who was pretty efficient at landing arrows in a mannequin's face. _He_ was the one I would be competing against at some point. I would have to kill him to win.

But when I glanced back to Attica, everything was okay.

The girl was actually crying with rage.

I was more than ready to win, to come back to her crying little face.

That was more motivation than I could have ever hoped to achieve.

* * *

 **Quirinius Crayton**

 **18 years old, Male, District Two**

* * *

I was amused beyond belief about the Reaping. There hadn't been such an eventful one since the year that two boys had gotten into a fist fight and the Escort had ended up falling off of the stage.

I was impressed with Bun's spunk. I wouldn't have expected her to have it in her.

My parents had been the first ones to say goodbye, wishing me the best of luck and talking about how much honour and pride I would bring to the family if I won. My Father was a little too familiar for my liking, we weren't close. But I let my Mother have her hug before she got on her way. They were a couple of few words and it was almost awkward in the room once they had said all they needed to say. We had an understanding where I respected them enough to listen to them, if they gave me my space. It didn't leave much room for affection. It was almost nice when they left.

My brother had been the next one in, telling me to be careful and to remember to think. I told him how boring he was but we both knew I was teasing him. He gave me a big hug that reminded me of how it felt to be a kid again. I always went to him to complain about the rules and he largely ignored me. He was the sensible one with focus and ambition. He didn't volunteer in the end; he dropped out to take a job with an explosives expert and was doing well for himself. Our goodbye was somewhat disrupted by some thudding next door, but we did our best to simply ignore it. I loved my big Brother more than I cared to admit.

Glacia and Saturn had to share, and I was almost surprised that the latter turned up at all. He was moody in the corner whilst Glacia told me how good I would be, but I coaxed him into the conversation when I sarcastically mentioned how 'fabulous' Cordelia's dress had been. Glacia gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek, whilst I held out my hand to Saturn, who just hugged me instead.

"Please come back…" Were the last words that I got to hear from anybody, before they were both taken out of the room, leaving me alone with the camera in the corner and a sudden bittersweet feeling. I knew I could win, that much was obvious. But it would be such a change in my life for when I returned, I would be a Victor and I would have all the fame and riches that I wanted. But I'd be expected to settle down and have a family… Did I want that?

I was sat on my own for a little too long, before Cordelia came and got me, knocking on my door politely and looking pretty pleased with herself considering what a catastrophe the Reaping had been. A _tribute_ had lead the Reaping. But then again, it would probably be all the Capitol would talk about for weeks and the attention might look good for her. I personally didn't see how it could _possibly_ look good for her, but then I didn't understand the Capitol's trends much myself. They seemed to get in a fix over the smallest thing and bring it up year after year after year on the television. It was a nightmare to keep track.

"Arizel?" Cordelia asked for the third time, knocking on the door to her room softly, calling against the wood like a Mother trying to coax out a small child with sweets. "Dear we can't be late for the train…" Of course, when she looked away from the door, her demeanour changed completely; as if Arizel wouldn't have a hope of hearing her if she turned the other way. "This is ridiculous!"

"Sorry…" Arizel said somewhat snidely as she opened the door to her room, just as the Escort complained. "I didn't mean to waste so much time…" She continued, making me zone out as I focused in on her. I was a little annoyed that she had taken her bun out. I liked calling her Bun, it was cute and I was damn sure she would have blushed like hell from it. Not that I wanted some epic TV romance from her, just a few seeds of my superiority planted in her head would have sufficed.

Still, she blushed hard every time I looked at her.

So that would still be an easy way to get my kicks…

* * *

 **Arizel Thymscar**

 **17 years old, Female, District Two**

* * *

"You have five minutes." The Peacekeeper said, as I turned around to see who would be visiting me. I sighed to myself with irritation. Attica and Azalea.

I was surprised that the pair bothered to see off the Sister they so hated. I'm sure Attica would shout and scream so much that the Peacekeeper would be dragging her out by the scruff of her sheer blouse before long. She'd already taken off her stupid cord belt. I grimaced at the thought of why she would have had to take that off. Maybe she stripteased the Mayor to try and get my spot as tribute…

My insult seemed quite on the mark after all.

Azalea sat down on the arm of the corner chair without a word, sitting right in front of the camera that had been my only company for the past half an hour. Whilst Attica came up to me with a deep breath, seeming exceedingly calm given the circumstances. I was baffled by her sudden change in character.

"You know how much I want to be the tribute…" She almost sobbed, laughably pathetic in her current situation. "You didn't even want it…"

"Look, Attica." I cut in assertively. "I wasn't going to let _you_ take my place. Yeah I know how much you wanted it but tough luck." I told her. "I got it, I'm the tribute and if you _really_ want it so bad, you can take my sloppy seconds next year at the Quell. If you're good enough." I added with a scoff.

"You cheated." She scowled, which was the most like her usual character that she allowed herself to get, yet she composed herself very quickly, considering what she must have been feeling. "But it doesn't matter either way. I will not let you take _my_ glory. Take _my_ place. Everything that _I_ have spent my whole life working for…" She got worked up again, but managed to bring herself back down. "I have no other choice…"

"No, you don't have any other choice." I agreed with her angrily. She was being weird and out of character and I wanted her to go. I cursed that we got longer than the other Districts did. Apparently most only got three minutes per goodbye. I had to put up with five. "You _will_ let me take 'your' glory because you cannot get it. It is _my_ glory, sweetheart. It always was and it always will be." I paused angrily, turning away with a scowl. "Now who's being pathetic?"

I looked out the window angrily; content to give them the literal cold shoulder until they were asked to leave. I looked down at the Mayor's gardens and the beautiful home and pictured my house in Victors' Village. I would make sure it had a beautiful garden. Mother always liked gardening, she had taken such good care of the few flower arrangements we were able to fit in our window boxes. I would do her proud with a proper lawn.

I'd almost lost myself in thought, when I felt a sudden movement behind me and was whipped with a tight sharpness digging into my neck, yanking me backwards violently into Attica, losing my footing and falling slack, struggling to scramble back to my feet in my heels. The pressure of whatever was digging into my throat was growing immensely as my hands scrambled up to try and get it off, trying to slip my fingers in between it and my skin to prise it loose. It was her fucking belt.

I gasped for air, but I couldn't get anything into my lungs, I couldn't even manage a scream or even a wheeze. All I had was silent gasping as I limply clawed at the cord belt around my throat, crushing my windpipe and making my lungs burn. I kicked my legs out as violently as I could manage; hitting the floor and a chair, but it did me no good.

I tried to flail back, claw at Attica's face, but I could barely lift my arms anymore. I slopped backwards and she yanked her hand holding the belt and I almost doubled over, bending my back at an unbearable angle, my legs giving way as I ended up half-sprawled on the floor and looking up at her.

She was going to kill me…

I tried desperately to gasp, to beg her to stop, she could have the Games if she wanted, I didn't care, not this much. My ears were throbbing with the sound of blood and my chest felt as though it was going to explode from the pain. The feeling of pressure just behind my eyes was excruciating as my vision became blurred and black, tears slipping over my eyelids and down my face.

My own Sister…

Killing me to get a chance to die.

I tried to focus on her, my head moving desperately as her blurred figure slowly faded from view. Fading into a deep pit of darkness with nothing else.

Nobody would put flowers on _my_ grave.

I would just die, forgotten or a scandal.

The first tribute to die before leaving the District.

Mother would have been so ashamed…

* * *

 **Attica Thymscar**

 **17 years old, Female, District Two**

* * *

Her body was still, lifeless, _heavy._

I kept the hold on my belt as long as I could, knowing that she might just be unconscious for now. Azalea had been talking through the entire ordeal, saying good luck and we loved her, as we had discussed, to keep the camera fooled. The bitch had stolen _my_ spot.

I was just taking it back.

I kept an eye on the clock; I wagered that two and a half minutes would have been enough to have killed her. I released the loop on the belt and let her body flop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, quickly getting to work on undressing myself. I had to change into her clothes in less than a minute to be safe. I cursed at her choice of dress, a lace up back that was terribly difficult to undo, especially with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. In the end I decided on pulling it off of her as quickly as I could and trying not to worry when I heard the sound of fabric ripping.

It felt ridiculous as I put it on; I felt like some naïve little orphan from District Eleven. The low high heels were actually easier to walk in than my own, and as I pulled the scarf tight around my neck, I felt a little uneasy. My clothes were easy to shove onto her body, she was heavy limbed now and it would have been very difficult to have put anything on her that was more complicated, but I managed.

I pulled the pins and grips out of her hair as fast as I could, before I frantically looked at the clock, seeing we had almost no time left, then signalled to Azalea to begin the next part of the plan.

When my pathetic excuse for a Sister stole my place, I knew I would get it back no matter what. Azalea and I formed the plan together, to block the camera and kill the bitch. We'd then pretend she had fainted, and Azalea would leave supporting her, dressed as me. Then, once I was on the train, Azalea would throw her out of my bedroom window, making it look like 'I' had killed myself out of frustration. The plan was perfect.

We proceeded like clockwork, making sure her hair was covering her face when we called my name, both of us supporting her as the Peacekeepers entered to tell us it was time to go. Azalea supported her as she helped to carry her out, and the Peacekeepers thought nothing of it. I had been irate at the Reaping so I guessed it wasn't a surprise that 'I' had passed out.

Then Father and Thesrell came in as the adrenaline was still pumping. I couldn't bear to stand still as Thesrell started swooning and complimenting me on how good the dress she had picked out looked on me, how lovely I was and how happy she was that 'Attica' wasn't competing in the Games. I had to grit my teeth and force a smile as she said her scathing words. Father was a little scornful, but not enough to show that he really cared that 'I' had stolen 'Attica's' place.

He couldn't even tell us apart. I was counting on that.

They left, not long after, early. They had gotten the hint that I wanted some space and they gave it to me. My pacing slowed to a stop and I stood quietly in the centre of the room, the glazed wooden slats of the floor baring the full scrutiny of my gaze. Exactly where I had killed my Sister.

She had deserved it, I was first born and I deserved to be respected. Arizel had never respected me, she always undermined me and ignored me and I hated her for that. Everyone liked her, they thought she was the 'sweet' one and the 'nice' one and I couldn't stand it. I wanted people to respect me, and they never would if she was there, with her stupid bun hairstyle and her stupid demure expressions.

She made me sick.

There was a knocking on the door, before my Sister's name was called… My name.

I had to get used to it. For all intents and purposes, I was Arizel now. Nobody would call me Attica again. Nobody could.

But I would know. And the glory I got would be mine. Mine alone. Maybe I would get my name changed in 'honour of my dead Sister' when I won the games. Then I could live as Attica again and Arizel would slowly fade out of existence…

"Arizel…" Yes, that was me now. . "Dear we can't be late for the train…" I scoffed, taking a deep breath and slowly walking over to the door, trying not to look too full of adrenaline as I reached out for the brass handle.

When I turned the handle I would no longer be Attica Thymscar. I would be Arizel Thymscar.

She wasn't friends with my District partner, so it wouldn't be hard to fool him. And all of the other tributes didn't know who I was.

I would be fine.

And I would win.

* * *

 **Quirinius Crayton**

 **18 years old, Male, District Two**

* * *

She was different to how I would have thought… Not only did she not have her bun anymore. But she wasn't blushing. I didn't think it could be some newfound confidence that had suddenly emerged, some loss of innocence that made her pull a flirtatious little smile when she caught me staring at her, her almost grey eyes laced with innuendo and suggestion. Even when we had shook hands on stage she had blushed at me like a thirteen year old looking at me topless.

Something had happened to make her much more confident.

I took a deep breath and turned, staring out of the window into the dark streets as the car headed towards the train station.

I was going to find out what that was. The bitch wasn't going to get the better of me.

That's for sure.

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 _ **So my second reaping, thank you very much to the submitters for these two tributes and I hope you felt that I have done them justice. There is a little more for Arizel and Attica but because of the nature of their story twist, I had to.**_

 _ **Now, what did you think about the twist there?**_

 _ **Attica?**_

 _ **Arizel?**_

 ** _Quirinius?_**

 ** _Do you think Quirinius will find out what has happened?_**

 ** _The review box is below..._**

 _ **Now, cue Panem Anthem:**_

 _ **I have had a submission for every available space left, and they are all being considered currently. Unfortunately we are at the point where the majority of tributes have been filled and I am going to be reluctant to accept tributes who are too similar to what I have already got.**_

 _ **Please don't be disheartened if you've not gotten in yet, there's more slots to go and I'm not in a rush for them. (Apart from the D4M) At this point, you should also be considering submitting a backup district as I may juggle people around to create dynamics with district partners... And if you are submitting two tributes, I am taking longer to decide on these to give everyone a fair shot. The only two authors who have submitted two tributes were both exceptional. (And both in this chapter...)**_

* * *

 **District Details**

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male:

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 1

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female:

Male:

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female:

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female:

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

ThePocketwatchRipper

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male:


	5. Chapter Three: Trust

_**Hello everybody.**_

 _ **Apologies, first of all, for the slightly longer gap between updating this time. I've just come back to Uni after the January holiday and things have been busy busy. But I've admittedly been distracted by video games and netflix too. I also joined a gym (haven't been yet but shush) so bring on the #jocklife**_

 _ **(please be clear that this is an ironic hashtag, I do not hashtag)**_

 _ **Now, the chapter.**_

 ** _Hopefully I have done these two tributes justice, they were both amazing and hopefully their submitters are pleased, as are the rest of you. It's a difficult pace to do District Three because of the more fast-paced and attitudey tributes from One and Two, particularly in mine, I mean, someone got killed in the last chapter!_**

 ** _Maybe it wont be as exciting as the others, but it brings things back down to earth and hopefully explores the two characters in a good way. I again apologise to the authors if I haven't done their tributes justice, I really hope I have, but I am not feeling_ as _confident about this chapter, hopefully it is just in my head, if not, please give me feedback so I can do a better job next time._**

 ** _On to the story:_**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

 _Trust_

* * *

 **Kinnick Holtz**

 **16 years old, Male, District Three**

* * *

The morning sun was flickering in through the gaps between the slats of the boarded windows, catching the dust in the beams of light, making it look as though there were thousands of tiny insects dancing through the air. I was perched on the edge of an old wooden stool, a remnant from when the building had been in use as a workshop, over a decade ago. It was no longer needed, and had been abandoned; its components were out of date and there was no point in replacing them with such heavy competition from the rest of the District's workshops; all with fully functioning and up-to-date systems. It was boarded up by the Peacekeepers and left to rot, gathering dust and undisturbed by anyone, other than myself and my friends…

We used it as a place to hide away after school, joke around and play games at the weekend, to get out of sight and forget the District for a few hours. I'd even re-wired an old music radio to tune in and listen to some of the Capitol music channels. It was a bad connection, and it cut out regularly. But it was more than most others had, and we didn't pay.

I was listening to it as I sat, nervously tapping my feet as the audio crackled in and out of sync with the wireless network. The usual music was gone. Today it was replaced with numerous talk-shows and radio presenters discussing the upcoming Reapings. I was listening to the Head Gamemaker, Lucretia Cachexia, discussing what she was hoping to achieve in her first year as the Head Gamemaker and what her plans for the Games were. I was hoping that she would reveal a few details about the arena, some little hint or scrap of knowledge that I could tell everyone in case they were Reaped. But she kept it very quiet.

She spoke about new plans, new procedures, new weapons, but gave no clue about what to expect inside of the arena, even the interviewer was trying to get her to answer the same questions. She was an expert at avoiding them all without fault.

But eavesdropping on the interviews with the Gamemakers wasn't the only reason I was stuffed into a dusty workshop so close to the Reaping. I was waiting for my friends.

It used to be that, a few years ago, myself and my whole group of friends would meet in the loft regularly. We'd come down after school, our time off. The days changed who would turn up, some people only on weekends, others sporadically or once a week. I was the only one who would be there every single day, always with a smile and something fun to share.

Reaping day was the one exception; everyone would always meet up together before Reaping day. People would be upset, scared, but we would all be there for each other, to comfort one another. So far we had been lucky; none of us had been Reaped.

Yet over the past year, things had changed. My lack of company proved it. I still put in the effort, I went every day. But slowly everyone else started to get on with their own lives; they stopped putting others first and started to focus on themselves. They got jobs and moved to different parts of the District. Got into relationships and found new friends. Or simply just stopped having time for our friendship anymore…

Those concerns had little worry on my mind. My Sisters were now old enough to take care of themselves, and my Parents worked all day and night to keep us all well fed, so _I_ could still be there for my friends. Yet my Parents always worried and hassled me for spending too much time focussing on my friends as opposed to on my studies or getting some good work experience. And maybe they were a little bit right… I _was_ going out of my way for people who left without even saying goodbye…

I suppose it made sense that even sat on Reaping day, in our old hang out, I had no idea who I was waiting for.

I didn't even know if _anybody_ was going to come.

My Parents hadn't wanted me to go, they'd wanted me to stay home, with Analogue and Intuitina and them and be together as a family on Reaping day. I loved my Parents and my Sisters a lot. And my Parents were always there to support me. _That_ was why I _had_ to go. Not everybody had that support, and I was always willing to be it for them.

My Father was eager for me to pursue a career in technology repair; sometimes when an unsuspecting Capitolite damaged their watch, or stereo, or vacuum cleaner, they got all sentimental and wanted to get it repaired, rather than replace it with the newest brand. It wasn't the biggest business but you got paid well if you repaired something pricelessly sentimental. But despite what he wanted, there was only one thing that _I_ really wanted.

I brought people happiness, that was what I wanted to do and what I felt was most important. And the way I did that was by channelling _my_ happiness to them. And the thing that made me happy. Was music.

I always begged my Parents to put the radio on over dinner, but its use was monitored carefully and the Mayor charged a lot of money for those who listened to it outside of the allotted morning hours. That was when I realised that I wanted to play my own instrument, make my own music. My attempts at singing were unsuccessful at best, so I tried to ask my Parents to help me buy an instrument.

My Mother was supportive, but realistic. They were incredibly expensive and we didn't even _know_ anybody who had a proper one. We learned about rhythm in school, but it was usually in the context of waveforms and our 'instruments' were pieces of scrap that we hit with sticks. In the end, it was my Father who helped me, in his own innovative way.

He brought home, what looked like a heap of disassembled junk. It was partially fused, had been dropped over a dozen times, had loose wires and almost every component was damaged. But he told me it was once a working stereo system that wouldn't be monitored by the Mayor anymore, but I could only use it if _I_ could fix it. He was so proud of me when we heard those first bars of music come through, crackling and disjointed, but a product of weeks of daily tinkering and countless hours of hard work.

It was that radio that allowed me to stay patient, even alone, so close to the Reaping, even with less than a half hour to go. The speaking of the Woman was eventually replaced by a brief instrumental piece during the 'interval' of the show they were on, which let me smile to myself and relax a little until the sound of the loose boards on the far right window creaked, making me sit up with relief that my morning hadn't been spent alone for nothing.

As soon as the red-tinted hair poked through the hole in the window frame that appeared when the slats were pushed out of the way, I knew who it was. I should never have doubted that Webster would turn up. He was there as much as he was able to be, even nowadays on occasion. He was shyer and didn't enjoy coming if there were lots of people there, and he tended to bring a book with him afterschool and hog the lightest spot in the room to read, but he was still my best friend.

"Web!" I excitedly barked, like a happy puppy who had just found a friend to play with, not even giving him a chance to clamber through the window frame before I was over to him and talking. "I was worried nobody was going to turn up!" I explained, just happy that I didn't have to sit alone and listen to a Gamemaker explain what her hopes were for this year. Explain so calmly about how violent and bloody she wanted the arena to be.

"Whoa, calm down short-stuff…" Web shushed me, stepping through with a playful shove as he pulled the slat back around and into the cover of the window-hole. He was pretty tall; he was about a head higher than me. I wasn't _that_ short but he always made comments like that. When he didn't have his nose in a book anyway… Usually one of the twelve books his family actually owned.

"What? No Turret? Where is he?" I asked with a slight concern in my voice. Turret was the polar opposite of Web, yet they were dating and seemed ridiculously happy together; it was rare to see them apart.

"Calm down…" He told me again, smiling limply. "It's his youngest Brother's first year so he's staying with him for the morning, I'll find him when we're in the square later."

I sighed a slight breath of relief. It was a shame, because it meant that I wouldn't get to see him. Turret and Web were both a year older than me, they were Seventeen, and even though we all went to the same school, we always got separated for the Reaping day.

"We need to head off soon, sorry it took me so long." He began explaining with a sheepish expression. "I didn't think you'd be here to be honest, we haven't done it in so long…" He continued, before a slight frown that I felt tipping my upper lip seemed to catch his eye, changing his subject instantly. "What about you, where's Cordella eh?" He questioned with a small smile that made me turn away a little, my face heating up.

"I-don't-know…" I bumbled out quickly, tripping over my own words as I spoke, spluttering out the sounds and making it one mess of a sentence.

Cordella was my weak spot. She was so bubbly, yet somehow so mellow at the same time. She really understood me and she was so supportive when I shared things with her, especially music. We had just been friends for a long time, but lately, a few evenings spent in our little hide out, when I could get good music through on the radio, we would sit together and sometimes hold hands. We even danced together on occasion…

And every time we did I really wanted to kiss her…

"'Nickie?" Web snapped me out of my Cordella induced haze, making me feel twice as embarrassed as earlier and making me flush bright red. He laughed from his chest and made my flush even worse. I wanted the floor to swallow me up. "I knew you were crushing hard on her but seriously…" He began, before I tried to cut over him and shift some of the embarrassment.

"Do you think anyone else is going to come?" I asked honestly, wondering if we should simply head down to the Reaping early. We'd avoid the last minute rush and getting crammed into the isle. I always felt uncomfortable when the person Reaped had to walk straight past me. There was always scarring eye contact.

"Well…" Web pondered for a moment, before he let out a small sigh. "I doubt it… Even _I_ didn't think to come here this time." It hurt to hear, but I knew it was the truth. "Cramming twenty people into that workshop after school worked a few years back, but nowadays people've moved into the Newsouth Section because that's where all the work is…" He sighed again. "I don't mean to seem…"

"It's okay." I replied with a half smile. "You're right… I just miss the old days…" I pondered with downcast eyes.

"We all do kid…" He put his arm around me and tucked me under his chin for a tight hug. Reaping day brought everyone's emotions to the surface. Usually Web wouldn't even let Turret hug him in public, let alone initiating a hug himself. He was scared. For himself, Turret too of course… I hoped he was scared for me too.

Reaping day always had the unfortunate side effect of putting all of your relationships to the test. You found out who your friends were when that final claxon sounded. You found out who you could really trust…

Web was my friend.

I managed to bring back my smile from the depths of my doubt.

We were going to be okay.

* * *

 **Ashni Ayres**

 **15 years old, Female, District Three**

* * *

Reaping day was always difficult for me. I mean, everybody hated it, all the children who sobbed and clung to their parents for as long as possible, before they were sent off to stand in the down square and wait to see who would end up being sentenced to death _this_ year, I wasn't special. We all found the day unbearable, ridiculously uncomfortable and utterly terrifying.

But that _wasn't_ the reason it was especially difficult for me.

It was especially difficult for me, because three years ago, my first Reaping, I was almost killed.

I should have considered myself lucky; my Brother's best friend _was_ killed. He got Reaped and it was a brutal year for the arena; new Gamemakers always went out of their way to impress. But because my Brother was seeing off his best friend, and my Parents had to work straight after the Reaping, I decided to walk home alone.

In hindsight, I was an idiot. I had been so naïve, a twelve year old girl walking on her own through the District on Reaping day. Everybody was always a little angrier, a little more rebellious, a little more desperate… All of those streets and alleyways that had looked fine when my Brother was with me had suddenly seemed so dark and forbidding. They were.

He jumped me, the small blade in his hand silencing me with dread before I could even find the air in my lungs to scream. I never saw his face; he kept in the shadows. I could tell he was disappointed with me; I was a twelve year old with nothing valuable to my name. I expected he was waiting for an eighteen year old celebrating their final year, or some relieved parents who weren't paying attention. Not a little girl.

Still, that didn't stop him. He pushed me down and ripped off my necklace, one that my Mother and Grandmother had worn on every Reaping day to bring them luck, disappearing into his pocket like a rat into a drainpipe. At that age, I supposed, I was a little unaware of what people were _really_ like. I had begged him to give it back, pleaded with him, told him how valuable it was and how my Great Grandmother had owned it before the war. Probably persuaded him to keep it…

I tried to snatch it back off of him, a stupid idea. He slashed out at me with the blade in his hand, probably nothing more than a shaving blade or a kitchen knife, but enough to cut a deep gash across my face, from the bridge of my nose, under my eye, all the way to my ear. That wound had never fully healed; it left a thin scar that was always a little inflamed from various recurrent infections; my parents had money, but not enough for the strong antibiotics that I needed. I had to settle for oils from the apothecary and home remedies.

They didn't work very well.

He had sprinted off at that, and I had hunched over in the alley crying for hours afterwards, until a family returning from the Reaping happened to stumble across me.

I was lucky it hadn't been worse; an inch higher and I'd have lost my eye.

But since them, Reaping day was always particularly daunting for me. Any day was in fact. I didn't travel alone, I hated having my back to anybody, I didn't like the dark… It was a long list of things that made by breath quicken and my chest tighten up.

As it was as I stood in line, waiting to have my blood taken and to go into the town square to see who got Reaped. I wasn't too scared, my family took care of me and I didn't have any tesserae in my name. My name was only in the bowl three times. Three amidst at least twenty thousand… Those odds _were_ in my favour. I liked to go with the odds. Statistics didn't lie like people did.

Everyone lied. Derek, my Brother, lied when he told me that it didn't hurt when they took your blood. It did. It felt like a hot needle was blazing into the pad of my finger when they did it, burning and stinging even more as they pressed it firmly onto the cartridge paper. I always whimpered, every year, and they person taking the sample would always look at me like I was pathetic when I did. Maybe I was…

But I didn't blame Derek for that lie; it was a white lie to help me that first Reaping. He couldn't queue up with me; the boys queued up separately to the girls. So he tried to comfort me from afar.

The town square was too small for the purpose. Everybody was crammed in tight as if we were animals, there was so little room and people always ended up jostling for space, which in turn aggravated the Peacekeepers and made them start trying to push us even closer together. I envied District Two; they had a huge stadium built for purpose. We had to settle for cramming into the town square.

I wasn't too early, but I always hated the Reaping. People pushing on either side, people behind me pushing against me, people in front standing on my feet as they moved past… The danger of being stood at the front of your age was how often people had to walk past you. I kept my body as small as I could, wrapping my long arms around my front and hunching my shoulders up to hide my neck. I could always feel my skin getting hot and blotchy as I stood there, trying to stop myself from taking my shallow, panicking breaths and to relax just a little.

It never worked.

Time slowly staggered by and eventually the crowd of teenagers hushed and the Mayor began his speech. He was bumbling and old, probably in his last few years of power before he was abdicated in favour of a younger candidate. In fact, considering how many times he stammered and spluttered with the speech he was reading, I wouldn't have been surprised if this _was_ his last year. His hands trembled a little as he spoke, not so much that he was flapping the paper, but enough to see from my place back in the isle of fifteen year olds. He was either nervous or drunk. Or perhaps morphling for his leg; he'd had a bad fall according to what my Parents had fleetingly discussed over dinner one night, and was on morphling and using a cane until he got better.

He wouldn't.

The looks he was getting from the Head Peacekeeper confirmed that he'd be out of power before you could say 'Happy Hunger Games'.

Well, maybe just a bit longer than that.

"Thank you Mayor!" The Escort cheered as he was introduced, all but forcing his way past the Mayor as he took the microphone, pulling it off of the stand and walking the length of the stage. "Good Morning my dears." He called out to the crowd, getting a fairly dull 'good morning' echo out in return. It was his third year as Escort for District Three now, and his eccentricities were well known. In the first year he had called out 'I said, good morning' four times before people got the hint that they were supposed to say it back.

He was very different to the Escort that had been there for my first Reaping. She was tall and willowy and graceful. She spoke with a voice that sounded like her throat was made of marble and let out a depressing sigh after each word as though she were pained to say it.

Piraeus was very different. He was loud and bruisingly happy, with a small smile that was accented by his sultry red lipstick. His tongue occasionally slipped out as he spoke, which was notably longer than it should have been, and decorated with piercings that were shined to such an extent that they caught the light and almost blinded me at certain angles.

His attire consisted of fairly minimal clothing. His bottom half consisted of a sky blue 'pouch' in between his legs, with sheer material spanning down from that point, till his mid-calf, where it became the same sky blue and decorated with tassels. His upper body was little more than a scarf around his neck in a deep crimson, with piercings in both of his nipples that jingled with jewels, matching the same in his belly button. He also wore a small sky-blue hat on his head, with a strand of crimson hair falling onto his face, and his blue-dyed goatee long enough that he had braided it and adorned it with shining beads.

He continued to lecture us excitedly about the Games, why they were in place, showing us a video as usual… Maybe some people still needed reminding after so many years… I understood it. I accepted that they _were_ a part of our culture. I would never embrace them like some of the Districts did, but at the same time, I knew that they were here for a Reason. That wasn't to say that I didn't wake up with screaming nightmares after watching them, of course.

"I have to admit something to you all now…" Piraeus sighed to us, into the microphone, looking so unbearably downcast that it had to be false. He looked up with a demonic grin shortly after that confirmed my suspicions. "I _hate_ tradition!" He spoke as if he deserved a round of applause, but he had done the same thing last year. He liked to pick from the boys bowl first.

"Kinnick Holtz!"

I didn't recognise the name; it was a big District. It made a few people gasp, but then there was such a big crowd that it might have been from relief. Until I saw the girl in front of me, stood right at the back of the Sixteen year old section, let out a wordless scream and cover her mouth with her hands.

I wouldn't have been able to see him, had it not been for the cameras that were zoomed in and projecting his face onto huge screens either side of the stage, along with the rest of Panem.

His dark wavy hair was styled neatly to the side, probably done by his Parents that morning. In fact, he didn't look Sixteen, which was the section he came out of, timidly shaking as he stepped, he looked a lot younger. Some of that was attributed to the freckles on his nose and cheeks that added to the boyish look he was supporting. Part of it was his height, which was made to look even smaller when the Peacekeepers flanked him on either side and marched him to the stage forcibly.

But the main indication was how his eyes went a little red, his pretty lips trembling enough to be obvious to the cameras that were zoomed in on him. The way he nervously looked from side to side as if he was trying to find someone to help him. If he _genuinely_ believed that, then he was a fool. Not in a spiteful way, but even if he were the most popular guy in the District, he wouldn't get any help on Reaping day. You couldn't rely on anyone. You couldn't trust anyone. Not on Reaping day.

"Come now you handsome young thing…" Piraeus beckoned, taking Kinnick's hand and all but dragging up the stairs as a camera came close to the pair of them. "Big smiles now, say something to the _whole_ of Panem!" Another addition of Piraeus' that nobody in the District could bare to even think about. He _made_ each tribute say something to Panem, even the crying twelve year old who was the youngest in the game by a fair margin last year. It took her over five minutes to get something out that he deemed acceptable enough to continue.

Kinnick looked as though he was struggling just as much. His stare was vacant and not even focussed on the camera, staring off aimlessly into the ground somewhere. He looked like he was trying to think, but his brain wasn't even functioning. But somehow, he managed to pull some obscene courage out from somewhere inside of him, and force a small smile onto his face, and look directly into the camera.

"I try…" He was shaking on his speaking, and clearly the façade of his smile didn't stretch far underneath. "To always s-smile when I can…" He shuddered and made a horrible noise as he did so, but he stayed strong. "Because you never know… If your s-smile… Is just what someone else n-needs to see…"

Piraeus smiled in a way that twisted his features so much that it must have been genuine, as he began applauding with too much vigour for comfort. The District held a respectable silence, until somebody on the boy's side started shouting and cheering for him, with such force that other people started to join in. It didn't really take up a crowd mentality, and it was shushed with a threatening stance by the Head Peacekeeper before it could really get going, but I noticed what effect it had on Kinnick. His eyes welled up a little, with a defeated yet loved little smile bursting through on his features. It made me well up just by watching it.

I zoned out a little during Piraeus' next gallivant about the success of district three, and of course, turned around to show the whole District, _again_ , the three gear tattoo's on his right shoulder blade to represent his faith in 'his' District.

Nobody would be there to cheer for me if I got Reaped. Nobody would go that far. Not even Derek would. I only really had two friends, and they were twin Sisters who bonded with me over our shared love for reading, which was essential as books were so expensive that we had to share each one between the three of us. We had fun playing card games, or playing with the prototype magnetic dart board that my Dad had developed… But they weren't the cheering type.

"… a big, energetic, District Three round of applause to…" I let my attention focus back onto Piraeus as I assumed he was finishing with Kinnick, his elaborate speech made more annoying by waving the piece of paper around as though it were a trophy, not a death warrant. "Our female tribute…" I suddenly zoned back in, realising how much I had missed during my zone-out. It was the girl's Reaping already.

"Ashni Ayres"

* * *

 **Kinnick Holtz**

 **16 years old, Male, District Three**

* * *

Ashni couldn't stop sobbing, holding a screwed up page from a book in her left hand and she squeaked with heart-wrenching noises. I wanted to be there, I wanted to reach over and help her, to make her feel better, to make everything okay again. But I didn't think I could. I didn't even believe that myself.

She had screamed out for a guy when her name was called, she had to be almost dragged by the Peacekeepers up to the stage, her pale skin looking flushed against the peach-coloured dress she had been wearing, her dark ringlets falling down to her shoulders as she struggled to keep herself from breaking down as Piraeus thrust the microphone into her face.

Eventually she managed to splutter something about never saying goodbye, but it hadn't made any sense and Piraeus didn't seem overly pleased. I hadn't seen her again until she was put into the car next to me, in a much worse state. I guessed that her goodbye had been as emotional as mine.

My Sisters and Mother were crying, whilst my Father put an arm around me that didn't offer me comfort at all. It was a pained arm that made me want to run and hide forever. It was an arm that said how sorry he was, and that he would miss me. Nobody really said much, it was quiet and we all sobbed, aside from my Father, but as they were being removed I managed to tell them that I loved them. That was an important thing for me. That they knew.

Webster, Turret and Cordella were next, and it was the first time I had ever seen Turret crying, clinging on to Webster in a way that was so unnatural for him. He was usually a daredevil and a wildcard. He was so unbearably put out, and Webster was barely holding himself together as well. But then Cordella came up to me and flung her arms around me with a sob, and I felt every ounce of optimism leave me. I was going…

The car felt uncomfortable, Ashni was hunched on one side and I was hunched on the other, trying to stare out of the window and press myself against it as much as possible. I was trying to avoid touching Piraeus, who was uncomfortably spreading his legs to the point he was taking up the majority of the three seats in the back. I'd asked if I could wind the window down, but he completely ignored me, continuing to talk about how excited he was about this year's arena. How the new Head Gamemaker would be taking things up to a new level.

"She is such an amazing woman, the new Head Gamemaker…" Piraeus explained once again to the pair of us, though I wasn't really able to pay more than a half-dazed ear's worth of attention, and Ashni probably had even less care for what he was babbling about. "I've followed her for _years,_ I exclusively wear _Capitol Couture_ labels whenever I go to any public event, I don't _touch_ her competition…"

"Lucretia Cachexia, right?" I suddenly asked, wondering if it might be a good idea to build a repertoire with Piraeus. He seemed quite taken with my speech on the stage, a revelation of my innermost ideologies blurted out in panic. I had to try and face it that this time _I_ would be the one in need of help; Piraeus might be able to provide some of that.

"Why of course!" He almost yelled, excitedly clapping his hands together in a way that made Ashni violently flinch the other side of him, her dark curls falling in front of her face as she timidly glanced up in order to try and join the conversation. "When I heard that she was becoming Head Gamemaker I knew, I knew that she would do a brilliant job!"

"A brilliant job of killing people like us?" Ashni quietly asked, making me screw my eyes shut again. It was almost possible to forget, if I just focussed on one thing at a time. I wanted to listen to some music… I needed to get some happiness into my body.

"Now, dear, don't talk like that!" He scolded her with a side glance that stretched his thin neck uncomfortably, the tendons sticking out against the skin. "There _is_ a _very_ real possibility that one of you will survive. In fact, she said this morning, on a live broadcast from the Ossa Flickerman show… Y'know, I've always found Ossa to be a little, well don't get me wrong, she is marvellous at what she does…"

"What did she say this morning?" I interrupted, worried that if Piraeus got lost on a tangent he would forget what he was about to say to us; I hadn't managed to pick up anything useful from listening in, but he might have heard a different show…

"Oh goodness you are so _awfully_ impatient." He huffed, tutting loudly and shaking his head with an exasperated expel of air. "She said, that _this_ year the Games would be just as much about survival as anything else. That the Victor would not just need strength, but intelligence, cunning and a good instinct for survival." He explained, seemingly gyrating with each word he said. "Lucretia wants the games to be open, for anyone to have a chance… Oh we haven't had a good underdog in _years_!" He excitedly shouted, following with a laugh as he seemed to punch at the air.

Somehow, his words didn't fill me with comfort.

In fact they had quite the opposite effect.

I wasn't strong, nor was I cunning, nor did I have any slight instinct for survival. I couldn't even cook for myself… My most impressive accomplishment was fixing a broken radio, but even that wasn't special. Any half-decent mechanic from District Three could have fixed as I had. I hadn't achieved anything of note. How was I supposed to do that in the arena?

I stopped myself.

My pessimism was out of character, it was toxic and I knew that once I let it in it would take control.

I _had_ achieved some amazing things. I had touched people's lives in a special way, to make them happy and bring them out of their shells. I had people that relied on me to be there for them, to put a smile on their face and get them through their darkest times.

Maybe that alone wasn't enough to win inside the arena, but it gave me a _reason_ to win.

I realised that people needed me. Webster needed me to bring him out of his shell, to appreciate his interests and to stop Turret from snatching his books away when he was engrossed in them. Turret on the other hand needed someone to bring him back from those pranks that went a little too far, to cover for him when he accidently turned his Mother's washing pole into a lightning rod. Cordella… Well she needed someone to dance with, in that loft, listening to soft music on the radio and staring into each other's eyes…

I should have kissed her back when she said goodbye… I was too emotional and shocked to even think about it back then. But when she flung her arms around me and sobbed, I should have kissed her in that special way that Turret kissed Web when he knew the latter was annoyed with him. I should have put my hands on either side of her and pressed our lips together until she was taken way.

People needed me.

And I needed them.

I breathed in slowly, trying to focus on those two facts alone.

I _had_ to win.

Then more. I _could_ win. I had skills; I was a nice person, and I knew that the other tributes in the Games would see that. Quite often groups of tributes would work together, I was sure that _I_ could get people to work together to survive. I was likeable and I knew it. I had lots of friends in the District; some of them had drifted away, but there wasn't anywhere to drift _to_ in the Games.

I let myself smile, turning to where Ashni seemed to be slowly pulling herself together, the car beginning to pull up to the station. She seemed like a nice person, I was sure that she would be happy to work together with me. I had time on the train to get to know her, and by the time we were in the Arena we would be close enough to trust each other completely.

Friendship was important. If you were friends, you could trust each other.

Trust was important in the Arena.

And if I trusted someone, if I put my faith in them. I was _sure_ that they would have my back.

* * *

 **Ashni Ayres**

 **15 years old, Female, District Three**

* * *

Derek…

It was all I could think about, sat in the car, squashing up against the window to avoid pressing myself against Piraeus' bare skin. I had shouted his name, screamed like a child, almost been dragged up to the stage. How pathetic I must have looked to all those potential sponsors who had watched me thrash against the grips of the Peacekeepers… How pathetic I must have looked to Piraeus and Kinnick, hunched in the car sobbing.

I scolded myself.

The games worked in two ways. There was the skills in the arena, the ability to fight, make shelter, find water, act smart… But there was also the Capitol side; the sponsors, the gifts, the support, the popularity. After all, it was the Gamemakers who controlled the arena, they would shift the games in the favour of the people who got on their good side, who the Capitol would entertain as the Victor.

District Three didn't support the most popular Victors… We never won on brute strength or by charming our way into the hearts of the Capitol. We usually won by being the smartest ones in the Arena. We'd electrocuted tributes en masse, rewired explosives, worked out the cruel tricks of the Gamemakers, built lightning rods… I didn't know if I would be able to do that…

I was careful, and observant… I guessed that boded well for me.

Sometimes, if they did it well, the best tributes underplayed their talents, made themselves seem weaker than they were to avoid too much attention. Sit on the middle ground between the hopeless tributes and the ones who scored high on the training. I imagined it would be difficult for me to do…

I had to fool, not only the Gamemakers who were observing me, but also the rest of the tributes, Kinnick in particular. I would have had to keep it secret from Piraeus and the Mentors too, just to make sure it wouldn't get back to Kinnick.

If I wanted to go down that road, I needed to try and fool everyone… Maybe I needed a different tactic...

Lying felt so unnatural, I never bothered with trying to learn how to twist the truth in cruel and kind ways. I didn't like lies. They made people feel better about things that they should have been worried about. They made people worry about things they didn't need to. They confused and mislead and they ultimately caused a lot of pain that could have been easily avoided just by telling the truth.

' _You're just as pretty as all of the other girls Ashni.'_

A lie that got me ridiculed about the scar on my face, the size of my wide nose, my gangly limbs…

' _You don't have to worry about the Reaping Ashni.'_

A lie that allowed me to put the Reaping out of my mind, when I should have thought about it in more detail, considered plans, just in case…

' _You'll be okay, you just have to use your head and you have a chance Ashni.'_

A lie that could have made me complacent about my odds, made me think it would be easy to win.

' _There is a_ very _real possibility that one of you will survive.'_

A lie that reinforced the toxicity of lies. Piraeus didn't know me, or Kinnick, didn't know our skills or our abilities, our personalities... I didn't know Kinnick, he clearly didn't know me. He was dressed as if he was from the East Quarter of the District, with the workshops and the repair studios, where they were away from the factories processing electronics and the production lines that people slaved over for hours. He didn't look quite well-off enough to be from the Development, where the inventors and successful product designers ended up, the goal my Father was aiming for, so it was easy to assume we wouldn't be acquainted.

I took a deep breath.

I had to make my chances a little higher, I had to be strong, even if it was just for a little while, just until I could hide away in a toilet or wherever I was sleeping… I had to force that same smile that Kinnick had managed on stage at the Reaping…

I swallowed another lungful of air.

The car slowed to a stop, and the door on my side was opened by a Peacekeeper. I stepped out as gracefully as I could, trying not to be overwhelmed by the amount of people who were gathered at the station to see us off. There was no shouts of encouragement, no cheering or any support. People were stoically silent, the threatening wall of Peacekeepers between us and them was enough to remind then that they were subservient to the Capitol. The Peacekeepers were twice as ready for a riot on Reaping day.

But people were there to see us off, to show support in the only way that they could, just by presenting themselves to us one last time. I tried not to look at any of them. Derek could have been there, or Mother or Father. I couldn't bear to see their faces, it would have broken me down again, eroded my inner logic just when I needed it most.

Instead, I focussed on Piraeus, who had gotten out of the car on Kinnick's side as opposed to mine, pulling the boy far too excitedly as he sashayed towards the open door of the sleek metallic train carriage. Piraeus seemed more excitable than most of the people I knew combined. I could never guess the age of Capitolites, they tended to look a lot younger than they were, so I couldn't wager as to his youth being an explanation to his energy. But he looked to be in his early twenties, with a lean and muscled frame that he clearly thought highly of, considering his choice of outfit.

However I knew I had some ground to cover, Piraeus had clearly decided that Kinnick was the better tribute, and that he would get the needed support over me. I had to claw some of that back… Or I _would_ be alone.

The last breath of District Three air was cut short by the silent noise of the train door sliding back into place, solidly shutting and immediately cutting off every slight sound from outside. The murmuring, the droning, the cawing… All of it silenced as Piraeus slowly lead us into the sleek belly of the metallic beast.

It was enough to leave me awe struck…

Ever surface was sleek and shone with ethereal radiance. Even the wooden table caught the light. Even the _food_ seemed to shimmer the reflections of the morning sun shimmering through the windows, lavish looking treats that tempted me almost as much as I could handle just by their proximity to me. Despite my anxiety, and that I felt sick to my stomach, I wanted to taste _everything._

We were led into a generously sized cabin, with comfortable looking cushioned seats in shades of purples and reds that I would have been more than happy to have slept on, the material almost shimmering in its temptation. The very air smelt fresher and cleaner than I had ever tastes, yet it was filled with such lavish smells that I almost felt queasy just from the overwhelming nature of every breath. I was feeling a plethora of emotions, too much to allow me to concentrate on anything other than scanning the room, looking just to make sure I knew how to get out. Just in case it got too much...

"Sh…" I caught myself before finishing the curse, partially from swearing aloud, and partially from the pain that was shooting through my elbow. Luckily neither Kinnick nor Piraeus would have heard the word, not with the shattering clatter from the ornament I had just knocked onto the floor.

Kinnick jumped and Piraeus let out a high pitched squeal, before turning to face me with eagle eyes.

"Did you knock that over?" He questioned, as if somehow it was in debate. I was the only one near it.

"I…"

"I'm sorry, I think I just knocked it when I walked past…" Kinnick cut over my confession, surprising me with his somewhat self-sacrificing nature.

"Oh for goodness…" Piraeus tutted, before sweeping off along the carriage. "Avox?" He yelled as he opened the door at the end, leaving us alone without a thought. "Avox!"

I slowly turned to Kinnick, watching him awkwardly looking at the mess on the floor.

"Should _I_ clean that up?" He asked me with a perplexed eyebrow. "Or is Avox going to?"

"Why did you cover for me? I knocked over the vase, not you." I asked with a quiet tone to my voice. "You could have gotten in trouble."

"Well…" He smiled with this broad grin that was almost a little too much considering the context. "That's what friends are for, right?"

I tried to smile in return, but it was a little forced. And certainly awkward.

We weren't friends… Possibly allies, if need be, but not friends. Friendship was not a quality that served anybody well in the Arena… You needed to trust someone before they could be your friend…

And you couldn't trust a soul in the arena; there was only one spot for Victor and everyone would be looking after themselves first.

I wondered what he was trying to prove by covering for me, that he was nice, perhaps?

Nice wasn't something that would keep him alive. Possibly irritate the more aggressive tributes and cut his life shorter, perhaps.

Yet, somehow, his naivety gave me comfort. It told me that if this odd boy could have that much faith, maybe I could keep that false smile on my face a little longer.

I realised in retrospect, that Kinnick was right.

Sometimes a smile is _just_ what someone else needs to see…

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 _ **So I really hope that you've enjoyed this one, a little more down to earth, perhaps?**_

 _ **Please, let me, and the submitters, know what you thought of Ashni and Kinnick. Let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, what was consistent...**_

 _ **Now, cue Panem Anthem**_

 ** _Over this past week I have received EIGHT submissions for the D4M and they were all very different. Unfortunately I haven't managed to decide yet. Hopefully the natural choice will fall into place soon, but until that point, the slot is technically still open. Once I start writing the Female i will most likely make my decision quickly, so I can let the successful submitter know._**

 ** _Please, if you don't get your tribute chosen, don't be disheartened. At this point I need to start thinking about the story as a whole, and even if I get a tribute who is well written and incredible, if he is too alike to a tribute that I already have, I'm not going to be able to accept him. My advice is, take your time; their are still slots for the later Districts so there is no rush to submit asap. Take it slow and really think it through. Think about the character as a whole and imagine their life. Sometimes it is easier to write their History first, because their experiences and trials would naturally be shaping their personality._**

 ** _There is also no such thing as too much, in fact, I much prefer tributes that are too big to send in one message!_**

 ** _I would also advice for people to not write out the form on this site, use some word processing software to write it all out as one whole piece, that way you can go back and chop and change things as you go. I like tributes who really work together as a whole._**

 ** _Also, even if you unfortunately don't get a tribute selected for the story, If this is a success then i will definitely write another one, so still keep an eye on me!_**

 ** _Now, a final note to you submitters, and those who have submitted already and been accepted/not. Please review._**

 ** _I am keeping a note of which submitters are reviewing for each chapter. I do this because that way if i have a tribute from a loyal reviewer who has read and given me very useful feedback on each and every chapter I have written, compared to a tribute from someone who has never reviewed, I know who will be dying first!_**

 ** _Again, thank you all for your hard work submitting these darling tributes. And I truly hope I do each and every one of them the justice they deserve._**

* * *

 **District Details**

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male:

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 1

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female:

Male:

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female:

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female:

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

ThePocketwatchRipper

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male:


	6. Chapter Four: Determination

_**Well first of all I have to apologise.**_

 _ **I know it has been ages since my last update, but it's been a crazy few weeks! First i had my show week so I didn't really have time to write, and then I had to find a work placement for uni and its been getting very stressful, and I've just not had much time at all to get down and write.**_

 _ **I also have to apologise to the submitters of these tributes. Because this chapter was written over a long period of time it no doubt feels disjointed and choppy to read. These were both really strong tributes and I hope I do them both more justice in later chapters.**_

 _ **Also, to all those D4M's i had to reject, I apologise. Unfortunately the one I have chosen just fit best into what i wanted from this tribute and as such I went with him. There are still a few slots left if you'd like to submit again though...**_

 _ **Now, I think it's only fair to say that I don't know if I can safely throw out a chapter a week at the moment because of my Uni commitments. I struggle with the Reapings especially and I find them a real challenge to write, when we get past them my updates should speed up though, you have no doubts. It's weird to think that by the time I finish this story I will have graduated uni and currently I have absolutely no idea where my life will be taking me! Scary as hell.**_

 _ **Anyway, on to the chapter, I hope you can look past its flaws and hopefully enjoy what I have written, I had to make a choice between a complete edit of the whole thing or to publish with a slight choppiness, and since I've kept you waiting about three weeks I think you deserve an update.**_

 _ **Enjoy.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

 _Determination_

* * *

 **Wolfgang Schwarz**

 **18 Years Old, Male, District Four**

I grunted in pain as the solid wooden rod smacked against my ribs, not hard enough to cause any damage, but more than adequate to make me grit my teeth and hiss in pain. I glanced up at her emotionless face with annoyance, her brow arched with disapproval. But I ignored what her brow was telling me; her sparkling eyes were still full of pride, despite whatever criticism she had. Yet somehow, even that knowledge didn't stop me from getting angry at her.

"Why do you _keep_ doing that? You _know_ it's my blind side!" I snapped, finally getting to the end of my tether with one move that she was continually using on me. Most people, after having the same move used over and over on them, would be able to prepare against it. But not me. She knew that all too well. I wasn't learning, I was suffering.

I had lost my right eye when I was twelve, during my first week at the academy. One of the other boys didn't like that someone who had spent the last few months begging for scraps could be accepted into the academy, and tried to put me down as much as he could. He'd trip me as I walked past, shove me when I was training, make loud noises when I was trying to aim with weapons… Then eventually, he decided to hit me with the training sword he was using.

The incident was blurred, but according to by best friend Killvin and Manta, the trainer who had taken me in, the boy had been using a sword that had been put aside for repair; it was cracked in the centre. It was partly bad luck on my account; if I had bent down to do my shoelaces a second before or after, the incident wouldn't have cost me my eye. But he hit me as I was bending down, the wood splintering and spearing through my eye about half-an-inch, before the boy screamed and ran off.

I was never told what had happened to him, but needless to say he was no longer at the academy.

"I do." Manta returned calmly, tilting her head to the side with a slightly amused twitch in the crow's feet at the corner of her eye. "As will everybody else in the arena." I scowled at her response, knowing that she was correct and that I had to work out how to stop it. But she didn't make it easy. "We can always stop; you need to get changed shortly anyway."

A loud huff left my mouth as I dropped the spear I had been holding, letting it fall onto the ground with a springy clatter, walking over to the bench next to us and grabbing up a towel to wipe away my sweat.

Most people wouldn't be training the day of the Reaping, they'd be spending time doing what they loved, or being with friends and family, particularly if they were aiming to volunteer. I didn't have anyone to go to, other than Manta. And for her, it would have been a waste not to train.

My Father had been one of the top catchers for the District ever since I could remember, with a small fishing boat that could go up from the sea and into the rivers that ran like labyrinths throughout the District. He had a particular strength for catching the notorious 'sabertooth' salmon, as most people called them. An aggressive breed of salmon with tusk-like protrusions from their mouths that could leap out of the water with enough speed to puncture someone's chest, a remnant of a weapon used by the Capitol to block waterways during the District Rebellion ninety-nine years ago.

They were big, meaty and loved by the Capitol. As such, Dad earned a lot of money from his hauls, enough to keep the family very comfortable, if it was not for the fact that he was so obsessed with it that he seemingly forgot he had a child. He used to leave me for hours sat alone on the river banks, to contend with leeches and insects. He'd make me sit on the gut-sodden boat whilst he negotiated on prices; make me cart barrels of fish back and forth at his whims. He'd forget to pack me lunches, forget to get me home in time for school, forget me altogether.

But even with all of his neglect, at least he never struck me.

Mother, on the other hand, would readily do so: if I was too slow to get to the kitchen when she called, if I didn't get all of the scales off of every fish she gave me… I remember the feeling of every cell of blood in my body turning to ice when I dropped a fish on the floor.

They earned lots of money, but it wasn't enough. It became a standard to stick to, to best every year. If I got in the way of their goal of perfection they both had their own ways to deal with it. I managed to last for twelve years of it, before I ran from home, with no plan, no money, nothing. It was an idiotic decision, I had a roof over my head and if I worked hard I was fine. I didn't regret it anymore, but at the time I had.

It was by chance that I overheard some academy trainers talking about how weak the male pool was, a flippant remark by a trainer on his lunch break that led to me trying to forge my way into the academy. I falsified my Father's handwriting and promised the expenses be covered per annum, which again was another foolish decision. My parents would never have paid the academy fees and forging their details was a punishable offence…

But despite getting by, surviving, I was beyond miserable. I had nobody to talk to, other than a dirty, one-legged teddy bear that had washed up on the coast one afternoon. Anything I owned I had to steal or forage, to an onlooker I must have looked like a sub-human monster. I was desperate.

I was being dragged off by two of the trainers after my forgery was discovered, before a third, an older woman, stopped them.

Manta felt sorry for me, though she said she saw my potential to be a fighter, I knew it had to be pity. But she took personal responsibility for me, gave me a bedroom in her house and fed and clothed me. In turn, she put me through my paces to the point that I almost dropped out one-hundred times in the first few months. Intense physical conditioning, hours of silent meditation, cognitive training and hours of combat theory. I didn't get to spar with anyone else for months …

But then I did, and all of her training paid off.

I found myself doing something that I wanted to do. I wanted to make Manta proud; she had put so much time and effort into shaping me and I wanted to make her efforts worth it. After my eye incident I trained even harder, and suddenly being the guy with one eye made me popular. I didn't like all of the attention but I made a few friends, people who stuck with me through the years until we had to submit ourselves for the final assessments to determine the volunteer for the 99th Hunger Games.

And it was me.

Even as I sat, sweat dripping down onto the floor below me, knowing that I needed to go and get changed, I was reluctant to leave. The Academy had been my home for eight years. I'd walked through the halls every day, watched the stream of tributes come and go. I'd chatted with our last Victor, Raige Turtle, when he was still training quite a few times, acquaintances rather than friends, but I still knew him. I had to follow in his footsteps to become a Victor the District would be proud of…

I was anxious about that final thought, making people proud of me. I had taking first place in the sparring rounds, breezing the assault course and during my combat demonstrations I had been incredibly well received. It was that final round that gave me problems, down to the final three males. We had to prepare speeches.

It was one thing Manta had never prepared me for, one thing I was useless at. My speech wasn't strong compared to the other two boys; in fact it wasn't strong at all. It was a weak delivery, a weak performance, and I was sure that it had stopped my chances to get into the Games.

But I won.

Manta wasn't allowed to vote, but she had told me that delivering a good speech wasn't the only way to get sponsors. It certainly worked for Finnick Odair, who oozed sex appeal and made the Capitol fall in love. But it didn't need to be so.

Katniss Everdeen, the winner of the 74th Hunger Games, was a notable example. Her interview was awkward and won by a gimmick from her stylist, but she was incredibly popular. Even now, almost in her forties, married and with children, with some… personality difficulties, she was still one of the most popular Victors. Someone who got shipped to the Capitol regularly for talk shows and interviews. Axel Land was another example, a District Six Victor who could barely string a sentence together during his interviews. When I had watched them I thought he would die within the first few days. As it turned out, the Capitol found him endearing and he got showered with gifts during the Games.

She told me it wasn't about finding someone who could make people like them. It was about finding someone who people would like without them needing to try.

Apparently, my rags to riches one-eyed tale did just that.

* * *

 **Koral Shelly**

 **17 Years Old, Female, District Four**

* * *

The sound of the ships returning from sea was a common one to my ears, day-in, day-out. The sounds of shouting sailors, creaking wood and screeching metal, the cawing of gulls, chains rattling, machinery whirring, heavy footsteps, the waves breaking against the bows of the ships… The concerto of the harbour was as constant as the tides that rose up against the concreate docks, striking them repetitively and mercilessly, before ebbing back out to sea in failure only to rise again the next day. It was usually a prelude for a hearty meal, battered halibut, smoked anchovy, clams in broth, crab, prawns, squid, eel… My Grandfather cooked whatever it was that he bought that day, to absolute perfection; I imagined that people from other Districts would flinch at the thought of eating animals with exoskeletons. Not me; it was all part of the adventure.

Yet today, the sound of ships returning from sea, ringing bells and claxons sounding, didn't mean a hearty family cooked meal. Today it meant that, in a few minutes time, a different claxon would sound. One that indicated it was time to go to the District centre, to go to the reaping. To stand amidst everyone else in the District and be the one girl to should 'I volunteer'. That was what the sound of ships returning meant _today_.

My Grandfather had been so proud of me when I had told him. He gave me a small smile, and there was a look in his eye that told me more than any words could have conveyed. Even my Parents' reaction hadn't filled me with as much happiness as his look had. Not to say that my parents were at all indifferent; they were absolutely overwhelmed with pride and my Mother had shouted it out of the windows until her voice was hoarse. But the look in my Grandfather's eyes was even better. It was something more genuine, more real. It was exactly what I had hoped to see.

It was the most incredible honour to be accepted, especially a year _younger_ than most of those who had applied for the academy's assessment. There were some tough individuals in the year above mine; I wasn't sure if I would be able to best all of them. We didn't train as one large group; we did it with the people who were the same age as we were, so I only knew the people older in passing, when they left the training academy and when I entered it every day; that wasn't enough to know how skilled they were. I knew my own skills, but I still had to gamble against the odds.

I had never been one to gamble, but I decided to take that risk. Nobody ever seemed to win the Games without a major gamble. Volunteering itself was a gamble.

But, it paid off. I didn't lose.

I had trained almost exclusively in the use of harpoons; just like the ones my Grandfather sold in his shop, the ones I would play with when he had to watch me for the day when I was younger. He caught my interest, and he had trained me in how to use them, before I had even thought about training for the Games. District Four were lucky in the sense that we learned how to use weapons well before going into the arena, even if we didn't volunteer, we used them as part of our livelihood. It was an edge we had had when the Games first started.

Those years of childhood training, being shown how to hurl a harpoon into the water, skewer dolphins and sea lions, even whales when I had the fortune of getting to go out into the deep ocean, prepared me for the academy's training sessions before I had even enrolled. Hitting a stationary mannequin, or cardboard target, was child's play compared to hitting a sleek dolphin leaping from the water. I excelled a lot quicker in training than most of the others my age did; a few did spear fishing, but most did line fishing or net work, or didn't work at all, putting the rest of them years behind me in terms of skill.

I let a content little sigh drift out of my lips, watching the darkening horizon as the boats slowly sailed back to harbour. I was excited to get going; to the Reaping, the Capitol, the Interviews, the Arena… To meet my fellow tributes, the allies, the competition, the threats… The most exciting things I got in District Four paled in comparison. The occasional week-long voyages I would rarely be able to get permission to go onto, or the earthquakes that would strike suddenly and without warning, or even simply climbing up the scaffolding supports of some of the cranes on the Shelly family dockyard; they weren't as big as the ones on any of the main commercial dockyards of the District, but they were also easy to clamber up without people seeing me.

It would probably be my last climb ever; as a Victor, I would be spotted too easily, and climbing up cranes would not be a good example to set for the younger generations. I'd probably have to stop cliff jumping too…

But then, life as a Victor would provide other opportunities for adventure. I would be the one who got to _tell_ the stories. I was tired of having to listen to them, being jealous of the people who got to do so many exciting things whilst I sat and heard about it years later.

And I _could_ be the Victor. I'd beat out a good couple of hundred girls who had wanted my spot as tribute already; only twenty-three more to go…

We had a sparring challenge first; where we were paired up with other competitors to see who was better in hand to hand combat. From watching the Games over the years, it was rare to see a strong tribute from one of the alliance Districts without a weapon; they usually got one after the bloodbath and kept hold of it until the end. But on rare instances, muttation attacks, arena designs, traps or just bad luck in duels, people lost them. I'd always paid note of those instances; usually that was the death of some of the strongest tributes.

I wasn't the winner of my section, but they let the top ten-percent from each Academy go forwards to the individual sessions. I had impressed them with my accuracy at throwing, and my years of clambering up dock-cranes had given me an edge during the assault course. But by the time we had gone to the final round, I was exhausted. I was down to the final one-percent, but the last challenge was the toughest.

District Four had some of the most iconic Victors of all. Finnick Odair, the Capitol heartthrob who was almost fifty years old and still regularly 'shipped' to the Capitol for romantic evenings. Zaph Oara, the Victor of the eighty-third Games that were remembered for having the most difficult arena ever, a volcanic range consisting of lava-fields, steep cliffs and no safety. Then there was Raige Turtle, our most recent Victor, who had disappointed everyone with a measly training score of six, before turning it around in the arena and getting one of the most iconic kills of the decade; a hook on a chain that he swung around his body and timed just right to send the bladed point of the hook hurtling through the roof of another tribute's mouth.

Our two tributes last year were both disappointing. One got killed in the bloodbath by the girl from District eleven, and the other was part of the outrageous massacre on the fifth day, where all five remaining tributes in the alliance butchered each other, the winner succumbing to her injuries soon after.

It was clear what the assessors were looking for with the final challenge. A leader.

We had to compose and deliver a 'Sponsor speech' to prove that we could present ourselves well on stage, like our other great tributes had. I did just that.

People were always drawn to me. I had a strong personality and if I did something, I gave it everything I had. That passion, my fire, my confidence in myself… It was what the trainers saw when I was on stage. What they needed to see in a candidate.

I smiled to myself again, taking a deep breath full of sea air as I let myself fill with pride.

I had done it. I had won.

Nobody could say that I had got this through my family wealth. Nobody could tell me that I didn't work as hard as other people, or that I only got where I was because my parents paid for it.

It wasn't true.

I just proved that to them all.

Now I just had to prove it one more time.

* * *

 **Wolfgang Schwarz**

 **18 Years Old, Male, District Four**

* * *

The walk to the Reaping ground was quieter than usual, my crisp shirt feeling all too thin in the evening air. Killvin was by my side, the staggered and heavy steps from his expensive shoes clapping against the stone floor, the two of us walking to our final Reaping together side by side like we had agreed to do so many years ago. A simpler time, back when we were younger and teenage friendship seemed more important than anything. I let out an inaudible little sigh to myself; things had changed since then.

Only one person could be the Volunteer; that was one crucial little detail we had forgotten back when we'd made up a special handshake and promised that we'd walk together to the last Reaping, no matter who was Volunteer. Back when we'd stay up late at night and discuss girls and other stuff, Manta always knowing how late we stayed up and punishing us both the next mornings with gruelling training. Back then it seemed like nothing could get between us. It was so different for him now that the reality had set in.

I sympathised with his position, he had gotten through the sparring rounds, but the assessors weren't as impressed with his weapon skills. He was good, for as long as I had seen him he had always been a striking image when he was swinging his weapon. I could only assume that he had had an off day, perhaps the pressure was too much. Then again, his choice of weapon had always been a chain flail, a sharp blade at the end of a long chain. There were only so many weapons to choose from at the academy, and although a chain flail wasn't an obvious choice, it still got picked. It just so happened that Raige Turtle had used the same weapon.

That would bore the Capitol. Make him look like a copy-cat. Not get him sponsors…

He was angry, and I was the natural target, the one who had beat him out of his position, the one who had gotten to that first place. Yes he was honouring some silly little deal we made up years ago doing it out of some twisted sense of principle. He'd barely even looked at me, let alone spoken to me. He'd made it clear that this had damaged our friendship beyond anything we'd been through. It angered me a little that he had blamed me for this.

It wasn't my fault, that in the end, I was better than him. We had both been in the academy since we were twelve, both trained for the same length of time… I couldn't be blamed for surpassing his abilities.

But then, I couldn't help but empathise. My training had been my life; Manta had raised me to be the Volunteer… I had spent countless days since I was eleven years old in that training academy. I couldn't imagine the shame I would have felt, the anger, if I hadn't made it as the volunteer. I could only imagine he felt similar. And to have to walk next to the person who succeeded in volunteering… Perhaps that just made it all the more humiliating.

The stoic silence between us was unbearable. A few days ago we would have been unable to stop talking, about training or girls or anything that crossed either of our minds. Now I couldn't even think of anything to say, even as we queued up in the line together to enter the Reaping grounds, stood behind his wide-set shoulders with what I imagined would be a frightfully vacant expression.

He hesitated for a second as he was called forward, turning his head a fraction, as if to talk to me, before he seemingly changed his mind and strode forwards silently.

I was called over next, watching him walk off into the masses of teenagers teeming into the Reaping ground, before he stopped with a somewhat rigid posture, turning his head just as I reached the counter, feeling the sting of a needle pressing into my finger as I felt the proverbial sting of his words.

"Wolfie…" I cringed at his use of my childhood nickname; he knew I couldn't stand it. "Take the glass one out, just use the wrap. You'll make a better first impression; less creepy." He called over his shoulder with a turned head, pausing for a second to stare with his steely eyes. "You think I'm annoyed now? You waste this chance and get yourself killed; I'll piss on your grave every day until I join you in the ground." It was the closest he had gotten to a smile all day, before he walked off into the Reaping area without another glance back.

He was referring to my eye. I had gotten a glass one after I'd lost my real one, which was almost entirely white. Despite perhaps some preferred treatment from the Capitol in terms of the Games, medical supplies were still incredibly expensive and they weren't going to spend any time matching the glass to the dark brown colour of my other iris, as such, it looked, as Killvin stated so diplomatically, _creepy_.

I sighed as his form melded into the crowd, fishing my slightly bleeding finger into my pocket to pull out the honey-coloured cloth to cover my eye. Killivin _was_ right. The glass eye didn't make me look very approachable, I was wearing it in the hope that people might not clock it straight away. I didn't want to become a token one-eyed boy before they got a chance to see what I could do.

But it was inevitable. Even if I had gotten through all of todays close ups without people realising, there would be pictures when I arrived in the Capitol, the parade, the training, the interviews… People would see me as a boy with one eye long before they knew how good I would be with a spear. But I guessed that it was now my responsibility to change their minds.

I took my place at the front of the eighteen year old boys section, making a point of standing next to the isle and forcing everyone else to walk past me to fill up the row. Some of them looked even more annoyed than Killvin did, perhaps because they had been beaten by a 'street rat' as some of them had once called me, or maybe they thought I had received special treatment because Manta had trained me, or it could have been simple inferiority about losing to somebody with only one eye.

Whatever the case, they could sulk for as long as they wanted for all I cared.

"Good afternoon." The proceedings began, after everyone had been stewarded into the large open square, all accounted for and ready to begin. Our Mayor was always prompt with her speech. In watching some of the other Reapings, the leaders tended to ramble on and on, but we were lucky in that regard.

She was dressed in a slim fitting suit, with a long violet coloured skirt coming to her mid-calf. Evidently the Capitol was pleased with her positioning as she had served for over a decade without issue, and her wardrobe was demonstrating that. She looked a lot better than the Escort had ever done though, her clothes were extravagant, yet they tipped the scale in the direction of elegant rather than outlandish, which was a refreshing comparison from the usual. Speaking of which…

"Thank you Mayor." Thala, our District Escort, who was noticeably shivering in her outfit on stage, thanked as she stood up from her chair at the back of the stage. Her voice was strangely hoarse, though also slightly jittery from the cold, with little sighs in between every-other word as though it was a lot of effort to force words out of her mouth. She walked forwards and took the microphone with an almost non-existent smile that was clearly forced from up close. I was happy at her discomfort; it meant she would probably get through her rambling a little swifter than usual.

Her skin was tinged faintly blue, though I expected that it was from dye rather than the cold, though the latter wouldn't have been a surprise. The air carried a chill with it; we were on the coast and the cool air swept over the evening like a cold blanket. I was feeling the nip; the hairs on my exposed forearms were stood on end, but aside from that I was okay, even in my thin-material shirt.

Thala on the other hand, was not dressed for the weather. She was wearing little more than underwear to cover herself, with a large net draped over her body that slightly obscured her immodest clothing. From afar, I expected that the net would have been sufficient to conceal her, but up close the holes between the weaving were as gaping as a chasm and left nothing to the imagination.

Least of all her trembling…

She went straight into the video, and didn't even have the time to get excited about it before she went to choose the girls names. Usually our Reaping happened mid-morning, with the sun reaching its peak in the air and the District being bathed in the warm glow. The brittle evening breeze was a strange juxtaposition to that; perhaps what had misled Thala into thinking that a net was appropriate clothing…

Of course, there was a volunteer immediately.

Koral Shelly, a girl I knew only in passing. When she got through her sparring rounds I assumed she'd gotten lucky with her pairings; she was a bit stocky for her height and probably had a lot of power in her muscular arms, but she was younger and from what I knew of her family, spoiled rotten. But she went on to impress in all of the other rounds, incredibly accurate with thrown harpoons, agile and monkey-like as she clambered through the assault course, and I could tell she was someone who I would need to watch out for. Especially considering that she had Volunteered a year _early._

I wasn't sure whether it showed that she was brave and already lethal enough that another year of training wouldn't make a difference, or whether it showed that she was scared of the prospect of being in a Quarter Quell. Either way, she didn't make either of those hypotheses clear as she walked onto stage. She looked confident and somewhat friendly, she had undertones in her voiced that reeked of a natural sense of charisma that I was certainly lacking, and she was the first girl in seven years of Volunteers who hadn't been displaying her 'assets' proudly on stage in a low cut top.

Of course, that could have been down to the cold… Plus, she was busty enough that a low cut top would have probably struggled to contain her more than ample bosom…

She stood with a pretty little smile on her heart shaped face, prominent cheekbones and her larger forehead both decorated with waves of silky, mousey blonde, hair. The only thing about her that tarnished her appearance was the slight squinting she was having to do in the stage lights, twisting and turning her head a little to try and stop herself from gurning and screwing her eyes shut.

It was a little amusing to watch, to be completely honest.

There was a split second when she read out the boy's name, where I wondered if I was making the wrong decision. I quietened that voice immediately and I volunteered without letting myself think. I had been trained for this for seven years and I would be damned if I was going to let Manta down, let Killvin down, make my parents laugh at me… No.

I walked out from the crowd and was practically at the steps before the Peacekeepers could even move into formation around me. I didn't know why they bothered to do that in our District anyway; as long as I had been alive there hadn't been a Reaping incident. I understood the necessity in some of the outlying Districts where people screamed and lashed out, or tried to run away. Or perhaps in District Two, where competition to be the volunteer got so fierce that fights sometimes broke out in the isle.

We were much calmer, much more civilised. Even if we perhaps weren't as mature when it came to accepting when someone was better than ourselves…

As I had guessed, Thala did not linger on stage with us, she barely let us say more than her names before she was concluding the festivities, something that didn't cause me any issue. I was happy to get out of the spotlight as soon as I could.

I would have plenty of time to be bathed in the spotlight over the next few weeks, months, even years. For the rest of my life I would be in the spotlight…

I didn't mind quitting the first one prematurely.

"Can we have one final applause for our two volunteers for the 99th Annual Hunger Games." She rather dully stated, as though she were reading out the instructions of how to operate a harpoon turret, holding both of our hands in grips like an iron vice, lifting our hands up above our heads and no doubt making me look pathetically short in comparison to her and her disturbingly long limbs.

At this point we turned and walked together back into the Mayors house, her shivering fingers telling me just how cold she actually was. It would have been amusing, had it not felt as though she were going to rip my fingers off.

As the doors shut behind us and Thala all but shoved both of us to the side, hissing for an Avox to bring her her coat. As she padded off, I felt a warm sensation creeping over me, a strange blend of pride and worry.

The next time I breathed in the beautiful salty air of District Four, twenty-three people would need to be dead. Including the girl stood next to me.

I looked at her turned head, as we were beckoned by one of the Mayor's household staff.

I could kill her.

I'd prefer to let someone else do it, but I could. I would.

After all, that's all I had been trained how to do…

* * *

 **Koral Shelly**

 **17 Years Old, Female, District Four**

* * *

I wasn't entirely sure what to make of Wolfgang. I had seen him about at the training academy; he was pretty difficult to miss with his honey-coloured wrap around his head most of the time. In terms of stature, he wasn't impressive, shorter than most of the other boys his age, though his muscularity did help to compensate for it. He had impressive arms and his thighs looked incredibly strong, with his wide set shoulders and chest making him look pretty intimidating combined with the whole one-eyed thing. If not a little short.

But sat across from him at the station gave a somewhat different impression. He didn't look so hostile, hunched over, resting his arms on his wide-spread knees, sighing and giving irritated glances up towards Thala whenever she restarted her almost constant rant about punctuality and the lateness of the train.

He looked more reserved than I would have thought; he was almost always the first one and the last one in the training centre when we were training and I had watched him wield a spear like he was dancing a waltz in the skills demonstration… But here he was, hunched over, not even making eye-contact with anyone. Other than a rather worn and faded, one-legged teddy bear that he had been awkwardly, yet affectionately, holding after completing his goodbyes with what I assumed was his family. I recognised her as one of the trainers.

His figure was now surprisingly gentle, even with Thala's incisive ranting.

In my knowledge the train had never been late before, but then again, I would have guessed that we were just early with the way she rushed through the Reaping like her life depended on it. Perhaps it _did_ considering her choice of attire; she had been shivering viciously when she took our hands with the little ice-chips she called fingers.

I would have preferred a longer stint on the stage, in front of the cameras and getting to say a little bit about myself to Panem. But I tried to make the best out of it. At least we looked somewhat mysterious, no introductions, no details on what we were like… Just two tributes who volunteered. Hopefully that would work in our favour when it came to gaining a few sponsors…

The Capitol always seemed to like a little mystery in their tributes.

Another thing they appreciated was sanity, and in order to keep mine, I had to halt Thala's rant immediately. I thought if I got her excited about the Games she might forget that the train was running late… That was my plan at least.

"Excuse me, Thala…" I asked her, putting on my sweetest voice possible to avoid the ire of the blue-skinned hornet. "…I was just wondering if you knew much about what the Games will be like this year, any tips you might have for us?" Secretly I was annoyed too, I wanted to get on the train and watch the other Reapings. Usually it went in District order, but with doing us so late in the evening we must have been one of the last Districts to go, which meant we could watch all of the footage back-to-back. I wanted to get a feel of the other tributes, try and make some face-value assumptions on who would be a threat and who wouldn't, who to watch out for…

But if we had to stay sitting on the train platform, the least we could do is get some Game information out of her.

"Well, there's a new Gamemaker…" She began; snapping out of her ranting trance like someone had flicked a switch and changed her mood. The poor clerk she had been yelling at looked just as baffled as I must have done in response to her sudden shift in persona. "So we're bound to have a lot of changes in the style of the arena…" As if she was a different person entirely, she padded across to the bench next to me and sat down, letting out a slightly irritated sigh as though she didn't want to have to sit next to me.

If she was truly disgusted though, she hid it well.

"I won't lie to you; it won't be an easy Game." She hoarsely told us, looking between the pair of us with a flat expression on her cold lips. "Lucretia Cachexia is the Editor for _Capitol Couture_ , but despite what some people think, she might be the most intelligent Head Gamemaker we've had in a few decades…"

"How so?" I asked, feeling a sudden ripple of excitement shoot down my spine.

"She works with the public, she manipulates the trends and the fashion and she is _always_ one step ahead of all of the other big-name stylists in the Capitol, despite how dry her taste can be sometimes…" She snidely added that on the end and made me wonder if Thala had an issue with this Cachexia-person. "She knows how to make people do what she wants and she will make the Games a show more than anything we've seen in a long time…" She paused, tilting her head slowly and looking vacantly at the floor like some sort of dazed animal.

"Well then…" Wolfgang perked up now, glancing up at us with his swept chestnut hair flopping handsomely over his face. "I guess that's something we'll get our Mentors to help out with." He was a man of few words, but I guessed he was right. If these Games were going to be extra 'entertaining', we'd need every scrap of advice we could get our hands on. But preferably advice from people with more experience than Thala… "Where are the Mentors anyway, aren't they joining us?" He finished with his dark eye staring out at Thala.

"Ah, yes." She chimed softly. "I haven't been given all of the details, but it shall only be the three of us traveling to the Capitol on this train…" She told us softly, cutting us off as we both filled with sudden surges of questioning with a wordless gasp of pleasure as the sound of the train began to grow in the distance.

We both became irrelevant after that…

But things caught my attention as we drew in to the platform as well, namely the two figures who were peering out of the window hungrily as the train came to a standstill and Thala practically charged her way to the door that was opening at the far end.

There was a girl, pale as a ghost, with a head of honey-blonde hair that curled softly around her dimpled chin. She was looking out with a slightly open mouth as she looked down at us as if we were beneath her. I wondered if perhaps she was a stylist, or someone else from the Capitol, but I soon dismissed that theory when I looked across at the boy next to her, as the train clerk began leading us towards the entrance Thala had jogged for.

He was tan, with closely cropped hair and a strong nose, whose eyes told tales of fear when he glanced down at me. Immediately he turned away, whilst the girl didn't really look at us for more than a few heartbeats before she looked back up to the dark horizon.

They weren't dressed to be Capitolites, and the fear in his eye told me he was a tribute. They were thin enough that they definitely weren't from any of the richer Districts… But I barely had time to ponder it before we were being pushed onto the train, walking up the steps and being pushed into a luxurious cabin that even my family couldn't have come close to affording.

It was almost too much. First being told the Games would be very tough, more than usual. Then to be told that for some reason our Mentors weren't riding the train with us, and that until we got to the Capitol, Thala would be our only font of knowledge. To top it off, there were other tributes sat on the train with us for whatever reason…

I took a deep breath, and breathed out with a smile as a slight lurch in the floor told me that the train was now moving.

My story was already turning out better than I could have hoped.

And we were only just past the first chapter…

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 _ **I hope that wasn't too jarring to read, and I hope that you enjoyed it and that I did these two amazing tributes at least a little justice.**_

 _ **Please, let me know what you thought of the Chapter as a whole, Wolfgang, Thala, and Koral, and those little love/like/dislike/hate things that some of you like to do.**_

 _ **I'm also just going to put a poll on my profile for the fun of it (I will actually use the results) but please check it out after you review!**_

 ** _Again, I'm sorry for the delay in the update and I'll get the next one out whenever I can do so. Thank you all, and have lovely days/nights wherever you are._**

 ** _Thank you for all your support and comments and I just hope when we get to the Meat of the story I make it worth it for you all._**

 ** _Love x_**

* * *

 **District Details**

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male: WolfGang Schwarz- 18

Galactic Coach

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female: Ryana Ruiz- 14

AmericanPi

Male:

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female:

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female:

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

ThePocketwatchRipper

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male:


	7. Chapter Five: Obsession

_**So... I feel like I owe everyone an explanation as to why I haven't updated in two months...**_

 _ **Firstly, my Degree has really taken my attention up and I have had a 10,000 word dissertation (I can't place the title here as it might get flagged as inappropriate but if you're interested message me and make sure your profanity filter is turned off...) to write that did take up a lot of my time and unfortunately the last thing I wanted to do was look at a screen and write after I was looking at a screen and writing all day.**_

 _ **In the midst of this one of my relatives was diagnosed very suddenly with terminal cancer, which not only has been very trying for myself and my family emotionally, but also caused me to set back all of my Uni work and personal life in order to deal with it.**_

 ** _And I'm now in my final two weeks of my degree, Stage Managing a show at the Cambridge Junction and also trying to get to grips with what my life is going to be after I finish Uni... Because I have minimal ideas..._**

 ** _I'm also supposed to be writing a 2000 word essay that's due in like three days but I did this instead..._**

 ** _So hopefully you all understand the delayed update... And for those whose stories I have tributes in myself, I will read and review, but It will take some time I'm afraid... I have to get my life together..._**

 ** _But on that note, I warn in advance that this chapter isn't going to be a masterpiece. Truthfully I have been patching it together over two months so it no doubt feels disjointed and has weird pacing. These were both very strong tributes and I hope that I can do them more justice as the story goes on. I am sorry if I don't fully capture these tributes as intended, but hopefully they are still okay as characters and don't seem too 'off'._**

 ** _Now a question:_**

 ** _Would people rather to wait longer for longer chapters, or would you rather have shorter, less detailed chapters that I can get out quicker._**

 ** _This would just be for the rest of the Reapings. When I get to the Capitol I will be fine to go back to these longer chapters and have plenty to write about, but unfortunately Reaping chapters are the bane of my life and I find it very difficult to write them in truth. But oh boy when we get to the arena I will make up for it so much I promise, I have so so so many ideas for deaths, muttations, traps, puzzles, all sorts of goodness that I just can't write yet..._**

 ** _But anyway, let me know this._**

 ** _But first, please enjoy these two wonderful tributes:_**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

 _Obsession_

* * *

 **Gwynyth Wattson**

 **17 Years Old, Female, District Five**

* * *

I'd been finding it perpetually difficult to sit downstairs for the past few weeks, ever since I'd watched a man convulse and thrash, blood bubbling out from his lips as his desperate eyes bore a hole into my temple before grotesquely rolling back in his head… I had spent hours on my hands and knees, scrubbing at that floor with all my vigour, knowing that the blood stains were no longer visible but still feeling a compulsive need to scrub until my hands were raw. Every time I lit the fire I made sure to check for any scraps of fabric from his clothes, even though I knew there were none left. Even leaving the house had become terrifying, peering out through the key-hole to try and see if there were a mob of Peacekeepers outside.

I hadn't realised that vengeance would lead to such paranoia.

But he had murdered my parents. Avenging them, and stopping any others from falling prey to him, mattered more than my own welfare.

My parents were better than I deserved. They cared wholeheartedly and they believed in justice. They were ideologists and they saw a world without the oppression of the Capitol. That place that taught us that we were protected and safe, that the Capitol guided us and shoved propaganda down our throats. It was that desire for justice that led to their deaths, their desire to do good that lead to their 'disappearance'. That word meant one thing.

They were part of 'The Network', a covert organisation that fought against the Capitol. They didn't kill people, or blow up buildings or start riots; they spread information, found out the truths behind the smoke and mirrors of the Capitol; they uncovered their lies. My Parents were just low ranking associates but they were proud of themselves, working at _Coriolanus Nine_ , the solar plant named after the late President, to bring in money as well as a cover for their role. Where the 'accident' that lead to their 'disappearance' had occurred.

More Capitol lies. They had been caught.

They left enough money to let me keep the home, but I took up the space in the plant left after their deaths, working my way into 'The Network' and using my parents' connections to find out one little scrap on information. The identity of their killer. It took a long while, but I believed in justice, and eventually, after several choices that I wasn't proud of, I found out the name of their killer.

I felt my throat burn a little as I remembered how he convulsed and twitched on the floor of my house, grimly choking on my concoction of water and a few nightlock berries, twirled in with some chemicals I had managed to smuggle back from the solar panel development centre at the plant. My hands had burned from making the poison, my nose and throat felt brittle like glass from the fumes. I could only imagine how much he had suffered as he drunk it.

I knew who he was, he worked in the same department, was quiet, unassuming… Exactly what people would have expected from a spy. I couldn't get to find much about him, he didn't seem to have any friends, people just called him by his surname, Dyne, when they wanted his attention. I didn't even know his first name. But after following him for long enough, I found out that he ritually went out to one of the bars near the District centre every Tuesday evening, had one drink, then went home. I wagered that it was because the schools tended to run late on a Tuesday, so the bar was naturally quieter; if their children were in school late, parents could work later.

He wasn't unattractive, had he not been a liar, I might have been talking to him for an entirely different reason. But when he awkwardly returned my advances, shyly glancing down at my dress when he thought I wasn't looking, complimenting me on my blonde hair… I knew he would be dying that night.

I spent the walk home, being buffeted by the freezing rain, with his murderous arm around me, fighting with my morality. I had gotten to know him enough to have the slightest doubt, but didn't take long to remind myself that he had betrayed his District, and my Parents would have just been the first to pay the price.

It was afterwards, as I felt empty and disgusted with myself, my bare skin cool as I fetched the glasses from the kitchen, the lethal poison in one, perfect flute, whilst my harmless berry blend in a flute with a slight chip in the rim. Even so I could barely stomach it, I had to force down even the smallest sip.

But he, on the other hand, was obviously exhausted from his efforts with me, his naked form taking the glass with a brief thanks, before swallowing a mouthful of the contents without thought. He regretted that decision as he flailed and choked, collapsing onto the floor, dying eyes bulging and broken glass and poisonous pulp smeared over his naked body. A fitting end.

Not just vengeance. Justice.

That was the line I repeated to myself over and over again when I woke up in the night, remembering him in every detail. He surfaced in nightmares: waking up to find him stood over me, blood encrusted around his mouth whilst he glared down with dead eyes. Finding his corpse in my bed still drenched from the water of the river I'd thrown him in. Innumerable vile images that swamped through my head every other evening.

But it was justice that guided me through those sleepless nights. As it was justice that made my brow break out in a cold sweat as I stood in front of the mirror in my chosen reaping attire, an innocent pastel dress that made me look like the most harmless little thing in Panem.

The thing about justice, that my Parents had never taught me, was its many complexities. It wasn't as simple as they had made it seem…

I hadn't killed a ruthless killer after all. At the time I had never been so certain, perhaps even blinded by my need for closure and vengeance. Dyne was just a Capitol informant, infiltrating and reporting on the actions of The Network. To make it worse, he was only doing that, because he was being blackmailed into it, as I had found out through some of my Parent's friends. He had a twelve year old Sister who he was protecting. Lucia.

I had ruined her life in the name of justice.

My teeth grinded together as I stared my reflection down. This wasn't justice, it was just vengeance. Yet I _had_ acted in the name of justice, I _had_ , at the time, killed the man who ruthlessly murdered my Parents. How was I to know that he wasn't in much better circumstances that I was? That he was being forced to do these things against his will.

The sound of shattering glass covered my wail as I flung the mirror onto the floor, knocking it down face-first into a cacophony of noise. Why couldn't things be simple? Why did things have to be so much more complicated than they had first appeared?

Justice was supposed to be the right thing! My Parents had taught me that every day. I had believed them.

All justice did for them is get them both killed, or abducted, by the Capitol. All justice had done for me is cause a hurricane of morals inside me, ripping me apart from the inside. All justice did for Dyne was get him murdered by a girl who used his loneliness against him. All it had done for his little Sister was leave her alone and orphaned.

Wasn't justice supposed to be a good thing? My parents had taught me to live by the guidance of justice, to do what was just and to never doubt myself. They never said anything about knowing what _was_ just…

My mental maelstrom was interrupted by a soft knocking on my door, a sound which immediately through my guard up. Of course, it obviously it wasn't a peacekeeper come to arrest me; they wouldn't bother knocking. Yet I still couldn't help but peer out through the window just to check.

It was Kraft; at least, that was his surname. He was one of my parents' close friends and he tended to pop by on Reaping days to give them, well me, any tips about what could be expected for the year. So far I'd been lucky enough not to need them. I silently let out a little prayer that this year would be the same.

"Gwynyth." He stated, almost matter-of-factly, as I opened the door for him, his tall frame about a head higher than me. "You look lovely." I tried to smile at the compliment, it was harmless from him. But I couldn't help at be reminded of the last time someone had said those words to me.

"Thank you…" I replied, doing my best to not seem awkward, though probably not succeeding. "It felt so weird doing my own hair… Mum always used to…" I petered out, getting washed by a melancholy feeling that slowly engulfed me.

"I'm sorry, again…" He began, but stopped with a sigh. "Come on, you'll be late otherwise." He gestured his arm out to me, ready to guide me towards the Reaping grounds.

"What about your niece?" I questioned, hesitant to take his arm; he usually walked to the reaping with his extended family, being fairly young and still single. I didn't want to take him away from his family.

"She's got her parents, you don't." He said simply with a watery smile, before extending his arm out too me once again.

I smiled, though it was small, before taking his arm and walking. I couldn't deny that I wanted the company. My best friend Eirian had offered me the opportunity to walk with his family, but I honestly found some of them a tad overbearing. His Mother treated me like a member of the family and in some ways it made me feel more uncomfortable than it did comforted…

"Any news about the arena for this year?" I asked him quietly, walking down the stairs from my building and out onto the street, not too busy as of yet, but bustling enough that our conversation wouldn't be overheard by any wandering Peacekeepers. You could never tell who was lurking in the crackling streetlights

"Honestly it's been a real scrape to find anything…" He sighed, looking down as he spoke. "The new Gamemaker is keeping things silent. No teasers, not even hints in interviews. The Capitol is about to crack from excitement…"

"What about this new Gamemaker, what's he like?"

"It's a _she_ this year." He corrected me with a furrow in his brow. "And she's a big name. She's the Madame Editor of _Capitol Couture_ , tremendously popular but probably not great as a Gamemaker. I expect it is just a political move to put someone popular in the seat after last year…"

Last year had been awful. I remembered watching Aerin Coil, our District's tribute, barely escape from an inferno that had burnt him so brutally that he wasn't recognisable. His clothes had melted to his skin; his hair had burned off… Perhaps he _was_ the winner that year; he succumbed to his injuries and let the other boy get crowned. I remembered he could still barely move without pain when he was on the victory tour.

"… We won't find out until the arena is revealed, but I imagine she will be more focused on the publicity and playing the angle of _Capitol Couture,_ and the Games themselves will be overshadowed a little." He mused aloud. "I expect she'll make it about the tributes, make it personal and make them all characters for the audience to love and hate, to run that element over a violent arena."

"I guess that's better than usual…" I returned, imagining a scenario of trying to make people like me over having to be brutal and survive. The former did sound easier.

"Yeah, but it means District One and Two have an edge, everyone knows that they're the Capitol's lapdogs."

I sighed in agreement; it was true. But on the other hand, after they brutally killed each other last year, perhaps they'd lost some of their fanbase. That frustrated skirmish probably lost a lot of people a lot of money. I smiled to myself at that thought.

It was a little bit of justice in the system.

* * *

 **Brites Steinla**

 **16 Years Old, Male, District Five**

* * *

I had always felt somewhat bored at the Reapings. It was a long ceremony, with a lot of crap to have to wait through. The mayor, previous Victors, the Escort who seemed to change every year… The speeches seemed unending and all I wanted was to be elsewhere. Of course, even worse were the usual next few days. Waiting around twiddling my thumbs whilst we got fragmented updates on the tributes and previews of the arena. It wasn't until I got to sit in front of the countdown on the TV and hear the starting cannon go, that I could finally get a smile on my face.

It was the most exciting event of the year. The victory tours were the same mundane speeches that we got at the Reapings, elections, every other sodding event. The Games got the blood pumping, they let us watch something that was exciting, the one event of the year and let us take ourselves out of mundane, boring, everyday life. It got me away from my bitch of a Stepmother and we didn't go to school when it was on; I could relax and watch it without having to worry about anything else for a couple of weeks, if we were lucky.

The worst ones were the ones that ended prematurely.

In fact, last year had been one of the best. The favourites to win murdered each other brutally, others burnt to death in a firestorm that the Gamemakers had released. I remembered watching vividly as the fire caught the first tribute, some ditz from District eight who couldn't run for two minutes before collapsing, screeching like a banshee as the flames slowly licked at her bruised and battered body. I could almost imagine the smell of burning skin…

But until we got to that point, the process was worthless. I hated crowds. I enjoyed having space, being apart from everyone else, getting to see what they did, watch their emotions, work out what they were trying to do, what they wanted, what they didn't want. Being in a crowd was like being at school, or herded inside the power plant. Either way; I hated it.

Which is why being sat alone was much more relaxing for me. I would get a bit of peace and quiet, not have to worry about people knocking into me or stamping on my feet. You'd expect that being taller would mean people _wouldn't_ do those things. Alas, I had been doomed to live amongst idiots.

I leant to the side and cracked my neck, stretching out on the comfortable chair and scratching at a spot on the side of my face, letting my mouth hang open wide as I let out a yawn. I was bored of waiting.

I turned to face the door as if by magic someone would come in just because of my glance; of course, nobody did. I held my stare for about a minute though, before dragging myself off of the chair I was on and pacing over to the window, taking a glance out at the darkened sky, drumming my fingers softly against the cold pane of glass.

I briefly visualised a shard of broken glass in my hands, like a wedge of death, biting into my palm. I wondered how hard I would have to stab someone with it in order to kill them, how reliable it would be as a weapon. I wondered whether it was strong enough to kill someone without shattering, whether I could use it more than once. I wondered whether it would be easy to pull out of someone after stabbing them with it, and how long it would take to do so.

Of course, I wouldn't be using glass to stab anyone. A knife perhaps, a serrated one like my Stepmother used to cut bread with. I smiled to myself as I imagined that particular knife, and what damage it would do. It cut through even the toughest breads that she bought, long, thin, crusty, sticks of bread that she sliced thinly and buttered liberally. I had to hand it to the bitch that she did have good taste in bread, if nothing else. But the knife she used was a good knife, yet compared to what the Capitol would use, it would be dull, even though it left heavy scars in the chopping board, it would still be considered dull in comparison to even the most common bread knife in the Capitol, ready to cut through every and any loaves that District Nine could create…

And a wooden slab, compared to the soft, peachy skin of a teenager… It would tear clean through; leave a nasty, jagged wound… It would only work for slashing though; it wasn't sharp enough to stab with. I visualised the serrated edge of the knife in my mind, the blade undulating like a wave, each curve like a tiny jaw that was ready to bite through anything. The sawing motion she used turned that little knife into something from District Seven, the tiny little ridges each a miniscule knife in their own right, each stabbing down into something as they were dragged back and forth…

Imagining an arm in place of a loaf of bread was delightfully gruesome… Little flecks of skin and muscle flicking up like crumbs as blood flooded over the wound and washed the steel that slowly severed tendons and eventually split the bone in two…

I flexed my arm a little, wagering that I had enough strength that I would be able to swing that knife hard enough to cut open someone's stomach. I'd have to avoid bony parts, but the malnourished outliers wouldn't have muscle to protect them, just fragile skin. Even just the tip of the blade would do, possibly sharp enough to snag onto some skin and tear through it as the knife swung through the air…

The thought reminded me of an image of a previous Victor, some pretty-boy from District Four who at first wasn't looking like he would have any chance of winning. However his weapon was a hook-like blade attached to a long chain, and after he managed to pull off some elaborate flourish that ended with another tribute getting their jaw ripped off, he was receiving so many care-packages that he didn't know what to do with them.

I wasn't some dull pretty-boy like him, but I had no qualms about ripping a jaw off of a tribute…

My arse thudded back down against the chair, sending up a puff of dust as I did so, my dark eyes leering towards the door once again. I almost regretted telling the admin woman that I didn't want to see anyone. Even having some shitty conversation with my Dad about getting reaped would be better than the unendurable silence.

My fingernails picked at the wood on the wall, just at the ledge before it met with the red wallpaper above it, digging into the tiny recesses in the grains of the wood. I yawned again.

I was starting to feel like a caged animal…

I cracked my knuckles as I flexed my fingers, trying to find something to distract myself, just as the door handle turned with a grimacing squeak.

"Brites darling…" She cooed, the latest Escort, whose name I hadn't bothered to learn, with feathers from her yellow headpiece tickling the wood of the door as she spoke. "It's time to go…"

I smiled to myself.

Yes it was.

* * *

 **Gwynyth Wattson**

 **17 Years Old, Female, District Five**

* * *

I retched again, clutching the porcelain of the toilet seat so hard that I felt like all of the bones in my fingers were going to pop out of their joints all at once.

What had I just done?

I, every child in the District in fact, had prayed and prayed that they wouldn't be the one chosen for the arena, that we wouldn't get dragged away from our homes and set up to compete against twenty three other teenagers in a fight to the death. Yet somehow, even cowering from all of my fear, I somehow managed to shout 'I volunteer'?

Hearing her name called out, Lucia Dyne; it just hit me like a hammer to the gut. I had already ruined what little she had in her life, and now I was stood on the side-lines as a death sentence was handed to her like a floral bouquet. I had volunteered in her place, before I even knew what I was saying.

And now the reality was hitting me.

This time, I knew it _was_ the right thing to do. I had taken her Brother away from her; the least I could do was try to save her life. The life that I had destroyed for exactly the same reason that I was saving it. Doing what was right. But what was I even saving? She would be stuffed into one of the orphanages now, hopeless for a chance of adoption at twelve, especially after being called out for a Reaping; people would avoid her like the plague…

I knew that my Mother and Father would have agreed with my decision, they would have smiled and looked down at me with pride. Lucia, who didn't even know me, must have been thinking of me as her hero… The irony…

But what did I look like to everyone else?

When they said goodbye, Eirian was just so confused, hurt even. His eyes told me how dismayed he was with what I had just done, so shocked at my behaviour. He could barely get more than a handful of words out at a time. Kraft was the same, so confused with what I had done, but he did seem to understand my point of view… And even though he didn't expressly know about the Dyne Brother, I saw a look in his eye as he wished me luck that told me he had worked it all out. Randomly volunteering for a little girl who lives on the other side of the District, just after a suspected Capitol informant disappears, when the two happened to be related… It paints a vivid picture.

But Lucia… The way she hugged me and thanked me, so innocently in a way that proved to me that I had done the right thing… She seemed so quiet and pure that she'd have been butchered in the arena, with no hope of winning. I on the other hand had better odds, albeit slightly. I was five years older, taller, stronger, smarter… I could probably work the Capitol the way I worked Dyne, so long as I could stomach such a lie to their faces…

Even bigger than survival though, was my motivation to win. If I died in the arena, Lucia would go through the system with no skills and minimal education, getting thrown into one of the work-houses at eighteen to go and cart chemicals around or another job with a high mortality rate. And that's assuming she got that far… She'd be on tesserae in the orphanage, which was a quick way to get yourself into the Reaping bowl dozens of times a year.

The orphanages were somewhat corrupt; we were one of the richer Districts, but the owners abused the tesserae rules to get food for all of the orphans and themselves, sometimes thirty-plus people. Then they'd sell a little on the side and make a tidy profit. Each orphan would get their name in the Reaping bowl about thirty times a year, leading to the odds stacked so far against them that an orphan tended to get reaped each year. No doubt my mistake had cost Lucia another thirty names in the bowl, and led to my current circumstances.

Justice was circular.

I blinked tears away as I tried to calm myself, to quiet the retching. If I didn't survive there was a good chance Lucia would end up facing the same fate as me. I swallowed my fear, rubbed some abrasive tissue paper over my face to wipe away the tears, snot and saliva that were slowly pouring from me, and took a deep breath.

I had to put on a strong face now more than ever, because the Capitol were now looking for a strong District Five volunteer, someone determined and courageous and able to win. I had to use whatever I had at my disposal to get through it. I would work people like I had multiple times to find information about Dyne. I could find alliances with other tributes; convince them that I was a strong teammate. I would even seduce another tribute if I needed to, I had done it with Dyne, I'd do it again. I even knew that I was able to kill…

I just hoped that killing a second time wouldn't do something to me that couldn't be undone… There was no justice in the arena, not really. I was justifying my life over theirs if it came to it… I just hoped I could exist in a state where I wouldn't

Breathing deeply, I blew my nose and dropped the tissue in the toilet, flushing it away with the merger contents of my stomach as I turned to leave the cubical, heading back out onto the platform at the station with a brave face, immediately met by Antonia, our escort, and the only one since I had been in the Reaping pool with a name I could pronounce.

"Oh good heavens Dear!" She exclaimed, flailing manically with the garish yellow feather-fan she had clutched in her hand. "Are you okay? Are you ill? Here let me…" She pressed the back of her hand up against my clammy forehead with such vigour it almost took me off of my feet, her sour-coloured lips parted in concern.

She watched my reaction like a bird, the yellow feathered eyelashes she was sporting creating somewhat of a draft with the frequency she was blinking with them. Her wide black pupils were almost unnerving as she scanned my whole face with tiny little head movements that distressed me more than they did comfort me, but I was sure she meant well.

I tried to hate her, considering she represented all of the evils I had been fighting against for most of my life, the Capitol, the hierarchy, everything. But this woman was fussing over me like Eirian's mother used to, of course, most likely because I was making her some money, because I was a commodity to her that had a slim chance of living long enough to get her some attention. District Five hadn't done well in the past Decade, not as bad as some, like District Nine, but we'd only gotten into the last six once in ten years… I guess she hoped her volunteer would get her a little extra recognition…

But even in her twisted way, she _was_ caring about me…

That made hating her just a little more difficult.

I dismissed her concerns, or at least attempted to do so. She continued to pester me until I sat down on a bench at the station, crossing my legs and slipping a few looks towards Brites, who was staring straight at me each time. I may have volunteered, but his reaction was far more chilling.

He didn't react.

His reaction to getting reaped was tamer than my reaction when Kraft had knocked on my front door that morning. It was tamer than my reaction to almost anything. He barely blinked with his dark, empty eyes as he walked up to the stage, he was yawning as Antonia concluded her speech and he seemed so vacant that I couldn't imagine him reacting to anything. He just scratched at the side of his face with his olive-toned skin and brushed a strand of his dark hair out of his eye, only for it to fall back in. He was blank.

Somehow his attitude made me both swell with dread and relax my shoulders. Whatever was going on in his head, I already had an inkling that he was dangerous, at the very least untrustworthy. He didn't look like the sort of person who would want to team up in the arena, and from the look in his blank eyes I imagined he would probably kill me without much of a thought.

However if he wanted to win, killing me would be a bad call. The Capitol _never_ liked people who killed their District Partners. It made them look heartless and especially brutal, and whilst the year that the final two were a pair of eighteen year olds from District Seven was ridiculously popular for that, it was a special circumstance. Generally the ones who killed their District Partner lost support from sponsors, and occasionally got caught in some terrible trap that horrifically killed them a day or so later.

If Brites was smart… He wouldn't try and hurt me.

Of course, I could have easily been wrong about him. He might have been all show, some creepy introvert who had the emotional capacity of a solar panel. His vacant staring at me may have been him being a weirdo more than him being dangerous. Either way, I planned to keep an eye on his progress over the next few days… I needed to work out whether he was going to be a fierce contender or a weird creep… Whether he was smart or insane…

I sighed to myself quietly, looking back over to the few lingering lights left on in the city buildings near the station.

Appearances didn't mean much.

After all, I was some demure little blonde to him, in my pastel dress with my big brown eyes… When in reality perhaps I was the more dangerous one of the two of us… The one who had experience with killing already.

I stared down at the floor, purposely avoiding eye contact with him.

Maybe he was trying to work it all out now… Maybe he was doing the same thing to me as I was doing to him. Working out if I was a threat, a contender, smart or insane…

Perhaps I was a little bit of each…

* * *

 **Brites Steinla**

 **16 Years Old, Male, District Five**

* * *

She didn't look like a volunteer.

I tilted my head to the side as I watched the Escort flutter about her, like a dandy little butterfly making sure everything was okay with her precious little volunteer… It would probably mean I'd get less attention, but that was how I liked it anyway. I wouldn't need the same help that this 'volunteer' was going to need. She had a target on her back already and she wouldn't make it very far.

Most people, including our Escort, would fall for the brave volunteer act that I could see slowly forming on her face, slowly working its way up into a fake smile that would flash some off-white teeth at the camera. But not me. I could tell that the volunteering wasn't about her being brave; we heard her vomiting in the train station toilet. She was petrified of going into the arena, which meant her volunteering was about the girl who had been reaped.

I sighed, folding my arms behind my head as I leaned back against one of the columns holding up the roof.

I didn't really care either way, her volunteering didn't change much, in fact, it made it easier for me to slip under the radar. She would draw all of the attention and I could be forgotten for a while, get away from the tributes who adopted the same tactic as their predecessors; hunt down the tributes who were most likely to be threats, or those who got lots of sponsors, or those who rattled the cages a bit. I wouldn't do any of those things.

Staying quiet was my speciality.

The quiet lingered as we sat waiting for the train, with only the Escort making consistent enquiries as to the wellbeing of the girl sat across from me, along with a couple of similar inquests into my own wellbeing, which I ignored. It wasn't until the sound of the train humming caught my attention that I really moved, twisting my neck to grab a glance at it. I couldn't deny my curiosity at this.

There had been many times that I had lain in bed fantasising about being a tribute, imagining different weapons I could use, different ways I could kill people. But I hadn't ever really imagined I would be doing it myself, I'd never really thought about volunteering. As such, I'd never focussed on the details, the trains, the parades, the training, the interviews, the tours… I had only imagined myself doing the arena bits, hiding, waiting to cut someone's throat, or clambering over rocks to stab some disarmed tribute in the back. I'd never really thought about all of the other overbearing stuff.

It made me scowl to remember it.

Unfortunately, I had watched these games enough to know that it was a popularity contest as much as anything. The popular tributes, the handsome charismatic ones, they got gifts showered on them in the arena. The unpopular ones fell victim to traps and muttations set upon them by the Gamemakers, or even just succumbed to hunger, thirst, infection…

I grumbled to myself, though neither of my companions heard it.

Charisma was not my strong suit. I was always the quiet one. I stayed back and watched other people, I was never the one watched. Even with my fellow tribute sat opposite me, every attempt to glance up at me, I stared straight back at her and she turned away almost instantly. I didn't talk much, I just listened.

As the train drew into the station, and our Escort hurried us along, I mentally weighed through all of the previous victors who had been the 'quiet, mysterious' types…

There was Axel Land, the most recent. He was the Victor of the 96th Hunger Games and in his interviews he spluttered and stumbled and embarrassed himself thoroughly. But he got given gift after gift in the arena and outlasted the other tributes simply by not having to expend energy going to look for water in the arid arena that had been set out that year. By the time it came to the finale, he, the District Two Male and the girl from District Eight were the only three left; the girl from District Eleven had just been killed by a snake-like muttation that had scales like metal and spat out corrosive foam. The hissing noise it made still played in my mind sometimes. But Axel won that arena because, whilst the other two were severely dehydrated and exhausted from days of hiking with minimal food' he was not.

Of course Axel had the looks on his side. His arm muscles were somehow always on display and I remembered hearing girls at school talking about him for months after. I wasn't some deformed monster, but nobody was going to be drooling over me.

Pit Handelle was another example, the District 12 boy who won twenty years after the famous Katniss Everdeen won her games. He seemed quiet and irritable, reminding the Capitol of their beloved Katniss, gaining himself votes and sponsors without needing to try. Yet in the arena he ended up having a small group of allies, and although he wasn't a great fighter, he was getting them packages regularly. The carried him till the end and then when they separated, the others found themselves lost without the Capitol's little treats, whilst he still got them. Once again it came down to him being in much better shape in the final conflict than his competitors; but he'd never have gotten that far without the sponsors.

However, he only achieved those sponsors because he reminded people of Katniss. She was a Capitol favourite even after twenty-five years and that kid was the first District Twelve tribute to stand a chance since her. That situation didn't apply to me.

Lleyn Former was a better example; the first Victor I really appreciated. I was seven and it was the first year I had been able to watch the games enough to understand them. She was a stocky girl from District Ten who originally nobody liked. But once inside the arena she really turned the tables on even some of the stronger tributes. She overpowered and killed the cocky boy from District One who was favourite to win. Afterwards she turned a lot of heads. Started getting gifts and attention. Realistically, her ability to fight was what let her win, but the sponsors gave her a helping hand in getting some medicine when one of the many brutal traps in the arena left her with a pus-bursting infection in her leg.

Sponsors helped a lot, but also the arena played a big role. District One and Two won a lot of Games, but in the arenas where the environments were more unforgiving, they tended to find themselves at a disadvantage. District Four tended to win in those situations, but District Seven and District Ten tended to have good chances too. District Five didn't offer us many advantages in these situations. Unless the arena happened to be a solar plant or a dam or maybe a field of wind turbines, we didn't get the extra help.

But again, neither was the arena given. There had been arenas set on the coast that District Four hadn't one. And District Nine hadn't won since well-before I was born, despite several arenas that should have suited their District knowledge. The Victor usually had an amalgamation of various skills, enough to get sponsors and hold their own in a fight, whilst being lucky enough to know what they were doing in an arena. It wasn't as simple as just really wanting to get a good kill.

The arena was another element that really would throw me one way or the other. There was really no way to guess what it could be. Forests, mountains, underground cave systems… There had been everything. Last year had been a barren field that ended up a scorching horizon. The year before that had been a winding maze of an underground lab complex, with automated locking doors and entire sections that would get sealed off as the game went on. The year before that was a craggy mountainous arena where the tributes had to use cable-cars to traverse around, with rockslides, ferociously territorial muttations and cliffs that threatened to collapse with the slightest weight shift.

I managed a little smile at the memory of one of the tributes having her face ravaged by crow-muttations when she was trapped inside one of the little cable-carts. Or even some young kid from Seven who lasted till the final six, only to get impaled by one of the grotesquely horned goat-muttations that had been roaming one of the mountains.

There was no pattern to the Gamemakers, nothing more than just what they wanted to do each particular year. There was nothing to predict, no grounds to base the decision on. It was just they thought would be fun to watch and to play in. I shrugged to myself in dismissal. I would take whatever came, I was more than ready.

My train of thought was jolted as the literal train I was on began to move with the slightest lurch, which I felt through the wall I was leaned upon whilst I waited for my District Partner to cease her gawking at the interior of the cart that the Escort was taking us to. When she finally moved away and let me in, I didn't bother taking much of a look around. It was just stuff.

"So my Darlings…" The Escort began, with a sickly-sweet and downright irritating smile on her face. "I will give you a chance to get to know each other now…" She paused with a pursed pair of lips. "I'm sure you have a lot to talk about…" She paused again, her lips sealing up once more. "But I must go and talk to my colleague Leandra… She and I have a lot to talk about too!" She finished with a loud flourish, before she strutted off away from us and deeper into the body of the train without much of a thought.

I felt my partner's eyes on my skin, and I tilted my head just enough to glance at her, watching her brow furrow slightly before she turned away with a slight tick of irritation in her expression.

At least she wasn't going to try and 'get to know me'.

I leant back, putting my hands up behind my head. I was much more content to visualise ways of killing her whilst we waited together. I probably wouldn't get to actually do it as it was generally considered underhand to kill your District Partner in the arena.

But then again…

Those little rules changed every year.

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 ** _So here we go, please let me know what you thought._**

 ** _With Brites I tried to capture a coldness to him, to such an extent that even being Reaped doesn't really bother him in the slightest._**

 ** _With Gwynyth I wanted to try and create a display of inner turmoil about her own moral compass and her own definition of justice._**

 ** _What worked? What didn't? Was it a good chapter? Was it bad? Why?_**

 ** _Let me know what you thought._**

 ** _And regarding my preface remark about tributes, some more details:_**

 ** _These characters who get shorter chapters will get their word count made up in the Capitol. We will spend as much time with them as the characters we have met so far, but just a little later as I will write faster once I am out of the Reaping contexts..._**

 ** _I like writing long 7000 word chapters and will keep doing it, but if my readers would rather get a 3000-4000 chapter that is briefer on the tributes but gets uploaded sooner, I understand and I will do that._**

 ** _Let me know in your review and I'll try to put up a poll on my profile._**

 ** _So thank you for still being about even after this long break, but I have been really busy. But I will not drop this story. I will finish this story if it is the last thing I do._**

 ** _And if anyone ever wants to message me about anything, I'm always about._**

 ** _Thank you troops_**

 ** _Thomas_**

 ** _xx_**

* * *

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male: WolfGang Schwarz- 18

Galactic Coach

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 1

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female: Ryana Ruiz- 14

 _AmericanPi_

Male: Ceres Syth- 16

 _Maveriqua_

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female: Doe Decem- 16

 _roses burning_

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female: Chrysanta Bloomtown- 16

 _Skyheart003_

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

 _ThePocketwatchRipper_

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male: Splice Wellwind- 16

 _HoppsHungerfan_


	8. Chapter Six: Misfortune

_**So WUT**_

 ** _There is that saying that you wait ages for a bus and then two come along at once, well here you go._**

 ** _I just wanted to write this weekend so I managed to get a whole chapter done._**

 ** _This will be the last chapter I upload before I finish my degree (In four days) and as such I hope you enjoy it. I didn't spend as long as usual in editing so there may be one or two errors, just let me know in a review or a message if you spot something and I'll fix it._**

 ** _But thank you for these two tributes and their submitters, and I hope you all enjoy!_**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

 _Misfortune_

* * *

 **Padget Geare**

 **17 Years Old, Male, District Six**

I both adored and detested the formal wear that was required on the Reaping day.

I loved being able to dress up especially for the day, to get to feel the delicate fabric on my skin as the four of us stood together facing the radio so that we could listen to the Reaping at the same time as the rest of the District. I loved the way a simple awkward shuffle would send ripples sliding down the soft fabric until it gently settled against my calves. I loved being able to put on a little simple make-up for the day, to make myself look a bit prettier than I would ever be when I caught my reflection in a pane of glass on any other day of the year.

But I hated how uncomfortable I felt.

I was too big for it, my shoulders were broad and the straps that rested on them just wouldn't sit well against the bony slabs. The torso was too tight, but at the same time sagging just enough at the front to remind me of what I didn't have. I had to be so constantly aware of my posture, to ensure I didn't stand with my legs to far apart so that the material would stretch and outline between my legs, nor could I stand with my legs close together at risk of accentuating a bulge in the dress.

I hated it. I felt so beautiful, and yet so hideous.

I felt like myself, and yet I never felt further from myself.

Some nights I would sit and sob, praying that one day I would wake up and it would all be gone. Either that I would wake up and have the body I was supposed to have, or I would wake up and just be fine with the way I was. But I couldn't stand the limbo in-between the two states. It was painful and uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than to be naked, without any clothes that taunted me with their ill-fitting nature, yet at the thought of being naked with my uncomfortable body repulsed me. It just reminded me that I wasn't myself.

I let out a husky breath as I tried to calm myself down; knowing that if I cried the other five people in the room would see me immediately.

Like my father used to say; boys don't cry.

But I wasn't a boy…

My self-destructive thoughts were shattered when Velocita took my hand tightly in her own, replacing them with a melancholy smile that slipped sadly onto my face. She was now getting to the age that she could start understanding what the Reapings were about, what they meant and what they represented. She would be fine for another five years, but I was still fair game.

Luckily I hadn't ever taken tesserae; I hadn't really had the opportunity anyway. It wasn't an easy trip to get to the Mayor's office.

I didn't live in District Six. That was where I was from, but it wasn't where I lived.

We had a small room in an operations building at the railway line where Districts Two, Eight, Ten and Eleven intersected, which was an important and busy job every day of the year, but most of all on Reaping day. Trains came and went regularly, but on Reaping day there would be three of the most luxurious trains in the Capitol all passing by this way within minutes of each other.

Of course, that was how it usually worked.

According to the transmission from the head office, this year only one train would be passing through the crossing we managed.

I could only assume it was some sort of artistic decision by the new Head Gamemaker, whom I had overheard on the Capitol radio that the Peacekeepers listened to in the evenings. Sometimes they let me listen, other times they were like living slabs of marble. Unfortunately the shifts swapped so regularly that we never spent enough time with the duty Peacekeepers to get them comfortable enough to relax a little around us. Some of the younger ones would be more lax, start slacking with uniform after a few days; others would be posture-perfect white-clad soldiers every single day. But then at least their opaque visors hid any disgusted glances that they may have been shooting in my direction…

But I sometimes victimised myself through their visors, I had no reason to believe they were disgusted with me; it was just fuelled by my own self-loathing. The Capitol representatives that occasionally would be present to oversee station management had never looked at me twice. One had actually given me a rather dismissive compliment on how my shoulders were lovely and I should wear strapless dresses. I didn't really know how to take it, but I used it to try and cheer myself up on particularly low days.

I tried to find some optimism in my life.

But stood in a line with my mother, and two relative strangers, Velocita and her father, who'd only been living at the outpost for a few weeks now, I struggled to be optimistic.

I didn't know much about the games, I had never watched them. I had caught glimpses when some of the Peacekeepers had watched them on portable devices when stationed here, and we had it playing on the radio every year, listening to commentary that chilled my bones enough as it was. But Reaping season was our busiest time; the Capitol shut down, the Districts reduced working hours, but shipments still had to travel. We had to be ready for trains that ran on unsteady hours. The amount of freight that got shipped from District Eight was obscene as favourite tributes effected fashion trends, food shipments from Ten and Eleven were doubled with the amount of parties that needed food supplied for them. It put us under enough pressure that we weren't able to take reduced hours to watch the games, like the rest of Panem was.

I didn't really know how brutal they were. I had heard various commentators and talk-show panels discuss what the games had been like, I listened to the running commentaries each year of the progress of the games, the opening speeches, the closing speeches… And of course, the first speech with the Mayor each year. The one that I was listening to as I stood in the baking sun of the outpost's observation room. The Reaping was the only time in the year we had enforced time off, an hour or so, just in case _I_ got my name picked out of the bowl.

The odds seemed to be in my favour though.

District Six was the biggest of all twelve Districts. It would have almost eighty-thousand people who were eligible for the Reaping, and half of those would live in much worse conditions than myself, those who had taken tesserae for their whole families… The chance of one of the seven slips of paper that had my name on them being drawn from the forty-thousand full bowl was infinitesimal.

Somehow that never gave me much comfort…

The Escort was a male, I think… His voice was lilted and had a consistently bemused tone, with a little raise in pitch at the end of each sentence. He spoke softly with the particular Capitol accent that I still never quite got used to…

"And as you all know, it is a great honour that our brave tribute, Axel Land, is here with us to-…" The radio crackled a little with static, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

"…-supporting our-… …-courage and i-i-intelligence that-…" The machine continued to splutter, crackling and missing almost all of Axel's speech, which was a shame. I had a little crush on him, despite having no idea what he looked like. I had painted an idea in my head about his strong arms and small, shy smile that the Capitol seemed to rave about… But I felt endeared to his shyness, his sense of vulnerability that showed when he stammered and tripped over his words. He reminded me of myself in that capacity…

In the last ten years I had only ever spoken to the people who worked at the outpost, which was a very small minority. I saw Axel's bravery for standing up on stage and speaking to so many people. I could never do that.

One of the Peacekeepers flanking us walked over to the radio, fiddling with some of the settings before the signal came back through clearer than before, though it still had the cutting edge of static to it. The eerie silence causing me to become even tenser than I would have been had I been listening to the Escort babbling on about Panem and history.

"Lowelle Sable!" The Escort called, making me mentally and physically spin from the tension. I let out a breath that I felt as though I had been holding for an hour or two. Relief flooded my whole body as I realised I was done, and that his year was over now.

I managed a small smile to myself. I only had one year left to go through now, one year left of dealing with the terror of the games before I could go forwards with my life. And although I knew that I would never really be happy in myself… At least I would be alive…

The Escort was pattering about with the newest tribute, who seemed shaky, but seemed to be handling it okay. I wondered what she looked like, what her hair was like and what she was feeling. I tried to ask my Father these things on the few times a year we were allowed to be in communication; he lived back in the District and our calls were strictly regulated. I was supposed to have a call with him a few weeks after the games had concluded. I made a mental note to write it down in the book I kept of questions to ask him. Unless I managed to catch a glimpse on one of the Peacekeeper's hand-held devices… One of the two currently stationed with us was a bit younger than most and I heard him talking with excitement about the games with his colleague… These two were fairly laid back, and although they pushed us around, they were better than most. I wagered that they would both be watchers…

My train of thought was then snatched like a fishhook into an open mouth. The bizarre instinct that sometimes happened where you looked at something just seconds before your name was being said flaring up in me. My breath hitched and I waited, desperate that each syllable would not be the same as the ones in my name.

"Padget Geare…"

My mouth fell agape as I heard my Mouther let out a noiseless scream, Velocita's hand clamped around my own with finger-breaking pressure whilst the two Peacekeepers took an awkward amount of time to seize me as I felt my body freeze into a cold image of shock.

I forgot.

I _was_ a boy.

* * *

 **Lowelle Sable**

 **17 Years Old, Female, District Six**

I felt a cold trickle of sweat slip down the back of my neck as I stood alone up on the stage, the Escort craning his neck to try and look out into the crowd as the murmuring begun. I was no longer the target of so many hundreds of eyes, as they instead began to look amongst themselves, all slowly realising that they were safe for the year, all throughout the enormous hanger that our Reapings took place in, where we were all packed in like insects in a hive, the temperature sweltering in the sun to the point that it was almost impossible to breathe.

Padget Geare… He had called out the name three times now and nobody was coming forwards. The Peacekeepers were starting to get restless and I could tell that they were waiting for the command to sweep through the crowd…

Usually even if the selected individual didn't come forward, those around them gave such a wide birth that it was clear where they were stood, even for those who were paralysed with fear. But this person, Padget, there was no obvious indication of who it was… Even I had been given that wide birth, and I was generally adored by the people I had been stood with. It was as though they felt that through association they themselves would get Reaped _…_

That wasn't how it worked…

But I knew the Geare family, Reading Geare used to live next to my father and I… A woman moved in with him just a few weeks before my father…

I shook my head a little as if to fling out the thoughts, instead going back to the issue of this mysterious tribute. Reading Geare was the only Geare I knew. He had two stepchildren, if you could call them that if he wasn't married to their mother yet. Plus, even if he was, his Stepchildren weren't old enough to get Reaped yet. As far as I knew there weren't many other Geare families about… Not any that I knew from school at least.

"Padget, do come out…" Our Escort, Patroclus, began, his higher pitched voice reverberating throughout the hanger as he spoke into the microphone calmly. "We would _all_ hate to have to see _any_ violence on such a historic day…" As the words left his mouth, I felt someone brush past me and walk towards the front of the stage, the signature white armour, with a distinct lack of a helmet, confirmed their identity without needing to see their face. Bernice Viola, the Head Peacekeeper.

She wasn't particularly ruthless, but she hadn't been in position long and she had a cold, ruthless energy that made her stoic silences even more terrifying than if she had been a vicious, shouting man. Her presence made me almost reconsider my evening activities… Only _almost_ though.

People liked me, most of the people who knew me would smile at me in the street, stop for a quick chat, assist me if I was struggling to carry something… Everybody saw me as this picturesque little darling girl who lost her father and lived with her mad aunt…

What people didn't see, literally, is that when they weren't looking, I would send a sly eye over their belongings, glance at what was worth something… Or what I simply wanted. They never noticed a quick hand slipping out and snatching some food coupons or maybe some hard money if they had left any lying around, which was exceedingly rare and utterly stupid of them.

People didn't notice when I was complimenting someone on their little collection of trinkets, that one would disappear up my sleeve, or that when they went to the bathroom they'd come back to a few less pieces of silverware in their kitchen… I took things because I needed them. Because I _wanted_ them.

And if I saw things that I wanted, things that I couldn't sweet talk my way into, I would find a way around it. Pick a lock or two; wait for a distraction before taking something off of a shop shelf… Nothing risky, nothing that could end up with me having to run, just an event where I could quietly slip away without any confrontation, where I wouldn't even be memorable when they realised something was missing from their stock.

But if I had seen Bernice Viola how she was now, in this event, standing stoic at the front of the stage of an event televised wide throughout all of Panem… I would have perhaps reconsidered my desire… There was no way this woman would let anything happen, I could tell from the unmoving nature of her broad, armoured shoulders that she would drag the tribute out of the crowd by their ear if she needed to.

I was probably the first tribute from District Six in a long time to ever think that I was lucky to be the one on stage…

I noticed a slender woman nip out from behind some of the television equipment, a small headpiece on her ear that trailed down to her mouth. She darted over to Patroclus and murmured something in his ear, stepping back immediately and retreating back behind the equipment. Patroclus looked a little bewildered, but recovered quickly enough to turn back to the audience with what I assumed would have been a lovely sickly-sweet smile.

"Oh what an amusing turn of events…" He began with a light chuckle to his voice. "As it turns out, Padget Geare is a worker in one of the transport co-ordination hubs throughout Panem…" He paused, looking dead into one of the cameras to the side of him. "So it looks like we'll _all_ be in for a surprise when we finally get to meet him… But that might not be till we get to the Capitol…" He droned off as if he was severely disappointed, before he broke out into a sudden, wicked grin of realisation as he turned back to me, his somewhat handsome features masked by the thick coating of navy-blue glitter that he had coated his eyelids, lips and brows with.

He paced towards me, his long tailcoat swinging with each step he took, the navy fabric wafting from side to side as he grabbed my hand and spun on the spot, hoisting my arm so far up into the air that it felt as though he was going to rip it out of the socket.

"I'm sure you all wish your two representatives for the last of the first century of Hunger Games, the very best of luck!" He called out to the crowd with a sudden boom to his soft voice that caught me off guard, before he swung around again, this time dragging me with him and almost sending me sprawling to the floor as he waltzed out to the back of the stage that had been assembled.

The doors to the outside were opened by two Peacekeepers and the rush of clean air made me feel a hint of relief from the sweltering stickiness of the hanger that was washed away by the balmy wind.

I was steered towards a small cluster of buildings that were linked to the hanger by a covered walkway; no doubt the location that the tributes each year had to say their goodbyes to their families… Other Districts had town halls and they had goodbyes done in the comfort of the Mayor's home, but District Six was far too heavily populated to have anywhere near the town hall able to host the sheer tens of thousands of the teenagers of the District…

That wasn't the most comfortable place to say goodbye to the people that you loved. But then again, the people who would flock to me were just tools, none of whom I cared for.

My father was the one person who loved me truly. The man who had taught me not to be afraid of the Hunger Games…

I wondered how his advice would pan out in the end…

* * *

 **Padget Geare**

 **17 Years Old, Male, District Six**

I still had tears on my face as I felt the whirring motors of the hovercraft shut off, the thumping landing making me feel queasy as two Peacekeepers gruffly pulled me up to my feet, gripping my arms so hard that I was bound to have bruises afterwards.

But I was limp as a ragdoll as the shock was still burrowed into me, being thrust into a world of brutality and violence that I was not prepared for in the slightest. My Mother had sobbed her heart out, whilst Velocita had been so confused and scared whilst her father tried to comfort them both… The pain of seeing her face as I was pulled away from her was far worse than anything the arena could throw at me.

Although I said that naively.

In truth I didn't know what the arena was going to throw at me. I had heard all sorts of colourful descriptions of things; muttations, traps, tracker jackers, jabberjays, sabretooth salmon, vicious tributes, explosions, firestorms, flash floods… So many things that I couldn't even picture let alone think of how to endure…

Staggering down into the landing pad made me get my feet a little, staggering a few steps as I was half-led, half-dragged to a car that was at the edge of the landing pad. I was trembling with nerves and I was mentally brutalising myself.

Why the hell did I have to wear a dress? Why didn't I just dress in some of my old boy's clothes? What the hell would the Escort think of me? This Lowelle girl? I sobbed again, but tried to sniff up a globule of the snot that was half-hanging from my nose as we approached the car, already making me somewhat out of breath from the trip across the pad.

The door swung open, as I was pushed inside by the Peacekeepers, who I took one final glance at before the door was slammed shut in my face.

I didn't want to turn around, but I felt eyes on me and I felt uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than I had ever felt in my life.

"Oh goodness…" The lilted tones of the Escort that I recognised from the radio gasped, making me turn my head towards him to get a glance at what he looked like. His face was angular, with blue glitter encrusting his eyebrows, eyelids and lips, along with three very pronounced gemstones imbedded in the skin above his left eye in an arching pattern. "… This _will not_ do." He barely breathed at me, making me ball my eyes tightly again and try as hard as I could to stifle a scream.

I was a boy in a dress to him. He didn't understand me in the way my Mother did… He thought I looked ridiculous, pathetic…

"Wipe your face." He demanded, all but thrusting a handkerchief into my face. "You're a mystery tribute and you'll hold all of Panem in a stupor, and you will _not_ be caught crying." He told me, as I tried to timidly take the handkerchief in my trembling hands. My fingers were so numb that I could barely get a grip on it, making it fall into my lap as he let go of it, making him huff even more.

"I-I'm s-sorry…" I sobbed, shakily picking up the material and doing everything I could to keep it in my grip this time.

"I don't need apologies, I need you to look good. And nobody is going to be singing praise at your dress if it's covered in snot and tears. Sort yourself out."

I was a little taken-aback. He complimented me? I wasn't sure, but in attempt to avoid invoking his wrath again, I almost smothered myself with his little pocket of material.

By the time I had finished he seemed to be focussing on something else, which is the first time I noticed that the vehicle was actually moving, allowing me a chance to glance out of the window to my right, before I turned left and came face-to-face with my District partner.

"Are you okay?" She whispered with concern, leaning across and putting a hand on mine, which made me flinch a little, but she didn't seem to notice.

Words didn't want to form in my mouth, but I managed a tiny little nod, before realising that it was a lie and feeling tears prickle at my eyelids again, my mouth threatening to burst open with a wail of despair. But I managed to get composure… I was afraid of the Escort, the way his dark eyes crowned in navy flicked across me and glared as I let another tear slip out from my eye.

I dabbed it away with the handkerchief.

"I'm Lowelle…" She introduced herself, making me glance back to my fellow tribute. She had wide-set green cat-like eyes, with neatly arched brows above them. Her nose was pointy and small with a little scattering of freckles that made her look a little feline in appearance. She brushed some of her wavy brown hair that I was immediately jealous of out of her face as she seemed to hang on my response.

"I-i'm P-peggy…" I introduced with a tremor in my voice, making me inhale deeply as I tried to compose myself, sending a warning glance towards the Escort, before realising my mistake. "Padget, I mean…" I splattered out in panic.

"Do you prefer Peggy?" She inquired with a tilted head.

I just nodded, not wanting to get into a conversation about myself at that moment.

"Peggy it is then…" She concluded with a smile, before glancing out of the window at a structure in the distance. I recognised the train station; it had been the last part of the District I had seen when Mother and I moved out to the outpost. It looked like it would be the last part I saw again.

Maybe forever this time…

As we drew closer, the Escort hurrying us so that we got out of the car without any hassle, I saw that the train we were getting on this time was much more luxurious than any of the ones I had ever been in before, although that wasn't many. I mentally wondered how long it had needed to wait before it had picked me up; a hovercraft had arrived only a few minutes after my Reaping had been announced, and I knew that the hovercraft travelled really fast. But still, I had travelled half way across Panem; I had been closer to the Capitol beforehand. It would have been easier for everyone if I had gotten on a more direct train… I didn't understand why I hadn't…

I had probably delayed the whole process by a couple of hours.

I tried to calm myself down though, as the Escort hurried us towards the train, the slight chill in the air compared to what I was used to making me feel a cold tension in my shoulders. I took a few deep breaths, partially panting from all the hurrying we had been doing, but attempted to compose myself.

It was very scary, what I was going through, and it wasn't going to get better. I didn't know what I was doing, and I knew, in my heart, that I wasn't likely to see District Six again.

But at least I didn't have to worry about being myself… If my Escort thought that people would like my dress, then at least I didn't have to worry about trying to hide myself and who I was.

I let a more steely expression take over my eyes as I stepped up onto the metal steps of the train, glancing back towards the city one last time. I wasn't hopeless; I was smart, I had great reflexes, I could think on my feet… I had let the shock of being Reaped get the better of me.

The Escort was right. I needed to stop crying and feeling sorry for myself, because that wouldn't change anything. I was going into the arena regardless. And I would do everything I could to win.

And then, as I was herded into a luxurious carriage that I barely noticed, all because of a sudden thought that popped up into my head, something I had never really considered before.

The Capitol had medical capabilities that surpassed anything that the Districts could do… If I somehow managed to win in this arena, I might be able to finally get the thing that I had wanted since I was a little girl.

The body that I was supposed to have.

* * *

 **Lowelle Sable**

 **17 Years Old, Female, District Six**

Padget, or Peggy, wasn't quite what I had been expecting…

I was hoping for some strong, idiotic male who I could wrap around my finger. I didn't even quite know what Peggy was… I didn't know whether he was even a he… I guessed that, since Peggy was in the male tribute slot, it made sense to call him a _he_. But then again, he was wearing a dress and wanted to be called _Peggy_ which wasn't a g… I doubted I would get as simple an answer from him.

I let out a silent little huff, picking at the fourth pastry that I had put on my plate, feeling utterly stuffed from the sugary glory of the treats, whilst at the same time being desperate for more. It was so sweet, so delicate, just like people's perception of me. I could tell that Padget, or Peggy, or whatever, had already fallen for it.

I wasn't going to struggle to get him to like me; he seemed to have no social-skills whatsoever, which made sense considering he was from one of the tiny little outposts that usually had like three people living in them. But that inapt social-ability meant that he would be relying on me to help him… He was almost like Axel, our hunky victor who was so adorably cute with the way he struggled to find words.

Of course, Axel was a muscular guy with the most gorgeous green eyes, arms that made girls rub their thighs together, and a stubbly jawline with a pair of cute lips that two-thirds of Panem wanted to have a go at… Peggy, on the other hand, was tall and had a fairly masculine frame, with a short brown bob that framed his face nice enough. But his eyes were just a plain brown, his lips were not extraordinary, his arms were not muscled from working with stiff mechanics. He wasn't anything like Axel.

I sighed again before munching down on the pastry in front of me, making the golden coloured fruity preserve dribble out and squelch against my chin, my stomach growling in complaint whilst my tongue sung praises to the Capitol.

I barely had time to swallow before Patroclus swept back into the carriage, seeming in a much cheerier mood than he had been in the car, though he gave me a scowling glare towards my preserve splattered chin, which I cuffed with the back of my hand and apparently made him gag.

"Now, my two little angels…" He said, with a slightly forced sweetness in his voice, as he sat down in one of the arm chairs and beckoned for both of us to join him in the little seating area. "I have a few things to tell you about how the proceedings will work this year…" I was curious, and although my mouth complained, I made my way over to him and sat down on the large sofa that had its back to the window. Peggy sat down next to me, seeming a little surer of himself than he had before, sitting quietly with his legs close together and his hands in his lap.

"The new Head Gamemaker has really swept the Capitol with some of her decisions…" Patroclus began, brushing a fleck of his dark hair away from his glittery eyes. "Downright uprooted some of the traditions that these Games have had for almost a century, but she's popular and as you all know, change can only be exciting." He explained, leaning forwards a little before he adjusted his posture so that he was more slouched in the chair.

"The first thing, and possibly the most disappointing news for you two, is a considerable change in the mentoring system…" He began with a soft sigh, as if he were despairing over a broken heart. "Lucretia Cachexia has decided that the mentoring system creates an unfair game structure, and has scrapped it completely…" He almost sobbed. "A few key Victors will be taking their places on talk shows and other programmes relating to the games, but regrettably…" He paused and took a deep breath. "They will not be with us in the tribute tower for training…" He sobbed again, and I started to panic a little inside.

I felt the anxiety bubble up, before I calmed myself back down almost instantly. Axel Land was a stud, but that was why he won. He didn't have any great skills other than being found endearing to the Capitol. He couldn't teach us much more than how to get a lucky hit against a worn-out tribute.

"I suppose it is easy to see her point…" Patroclus reprised his speech. "After all, in the last twenty-five years alone, District Two has had five victors, Districts One has four, and District Four and Seven have had three each… They get so much more help than some of the others!" It felt like he had transformed into a rant now. "Three, Five, Seven, Ten and Twelve have all got two now… And we're stuck down with Eight and Eleven with only one Victor… Still, we're not Nine…"

Nine weren't strong contenders. Even the Capitol had a tendency to joke about them. Their tributes often died in the first day and in all the games I could remember, only twice had they gotten to the final six… I didn't know what their problem was in the arena… Even Twelve had picked up the pace a little, they used to be the lowest, now they were tied with Eight. But Nine fell back down into bottom place. Only three Victors ever…

"But anyway, Lucretia Cachexia had just sent out a message to all of the Escorts, informing us to inform you that there will be no mentors this year…" I fought hard not to role my eyes, he had just explained this to us. "And on another note…" He glanced up out through the window behind us. "This year the trains will be collecting tributes from multiple Districts, to give you all time to get to know each other…"

I turned around at his comment, only to see a great hefty wire fence that clambered up as tall as the trees that were lined up as far as the eye could see behind it. The fence was slowly drawing closer until it rushed out of view and was replaced by a wall of total blackness, which we endured for about thirty seconds, before the train drew up and into the air again, this time, inside of District Seven.

The trees were tall and towering, I was in awe. Nothing like this existed in Six, we were much more industrial, the only trees we had were small and few in number, occasionally I climbed them as a child and thought I was on the top of the world. But compared to these monstrously tall trunks, they were nothing.

"How long until we're in the Capitol then?" I questioned quietly, still in awe of the effect that these trees had on darkening the skies above.

"Oh at least a day yet, we'll be traveling up to the main station in District Seven, which will take us till the late afternoon, then we won't be in District Four until very late this evening, possibly after midnight." He paused, as my mind painted pictures about how beautiful District Four must look, with the great ocean stretching out… "I don't imagine we'll be in the Capitol until tomorrow afternoon, but it'll be a long day, so ensure you get plenty of rest…" He stood up again, brushing himself down as if he had crumbs on his clothes. "I'm sure I will see you later, but I must go and change before we meet the District Seven Tributes…" He somewhat mumbled, as he stood and quietly waltzed out of the room, leaving me in my stupor of the trees.

"A-are you scared?" Peggy mumbled from next to me, making me turn my head to see him fixated on the tall trees the same as me. I mentally dwelled on the question. Of course I was, but at the same time, I knew that I was able to work my way through these trials. And even if not, I would make sure to enjoy every single pleasure of the Capitol before I left.

"A little." I replied, trying to keep the sweet innocent girl act going. "But we can stick together, can't we?" I added, just to secure Peggy in a promise I had no intention of keeping. He was bland and useless; I would find other tributes who were more interesting and useful to me before I started forming a little alliance.

"Oh…" He replied, turning to me quickly, with a small smile and a nod, before he turned back up to the towering branches of the trees. "It's just… T-these trees alone are scary. It's s-so different from a-anything we're used to. How are we g-going to be able to survive if we get put somewhere l-like this?"

"We just have to be smart." I replied with a somewhat matter-of-fact voice. I was already getting tired of Peggy and I certainly didn't want him bothering me throughout the training time in the Capitol. "We can both train in different places in the Capitol, so we have double the skills." I lied. "What sort of training do you want to do?"

"O-oh, I don't know…" He mumbled. "I don't really know what training there is."

"Well…" He seemed simple; I tried to think of how to put it in easy terms for him to understand. "… What things have you watched that you want to know how to do?"

"I-i…" He paused, turning away from the window and bringing his knees up to his chest. "I haven't seen the games since I was really young, I don't remember much about them… W-we only got to listen to them on the radio at the outpost…"

I mentally screamed. Why had I been cursed with such a useless partner? Patroclus had told me that Peggy was seventeen, but it would have been more help to have been alongside a twelve year old. I didn't even need to waste energy trying to manipulate him if he was so useless.

"Well you can watch some clips now…" I gestured to the remote control next to the television in the front of the carriage. "I'm going to go and have a bath." I simply told him, before standing and walking out of the room without a second thought.

Peggy wouldn't last.

And I wasn't about to chain myself to that lead ball of a tribute.

I would get someone useful and talented on my side. I doubted I would be able to weave my way into the District One, Two and Four alliance that dominated most games, but District Seven tributes were usually strong, as were District Ten. Twelve had lost its use now that they had no mentors, and that fact might even cripple District One, Two and Four. In fact all of the Districts had a disadvantage now; even Nine had lost their crusty old Victor. Although he was their only living Victor and was seventy years old and probably not doing them much good anyway…

I approached the bathtub and smiled as I felt the cold chrome of the tap, twisting it and putting my hand under the flow straight away, almost moaning with pleasure at the heat and pressure of the water that was pouring out. I smiled as I went to lock the door behind me, scowling as I realised that there wasn't one.

Of course they didn't want a tribute locking themselves in a room.

I scowled, but undressed anyway, browsing through the sheer selection of different scents that they had on offer.

I was going to enjoy myself a little before I had to get to work on winning over the pair from District Seven.

I deserved a little 'me' time.

* * *

 **Padget Geare**

 **17 Years Old, Male, District Six**

My eyes were fixed to the screen in front of me, desperate to tear themselves away as I watched the carnage in utter shock. It was so brutal…

One of the older boys swung a long chained weapon up around his head and swung the terrible looking weighted ball on the end of it into the head of a girl who couldn't have been more than thirteen years old… Her skull cracked and the zoom shot the Capitol gave of her was so disfiguring that it looked more like the inside of a meat pie than it did a person…

But then the younger tributes were awful too; another girl who was short and underdeveloped had leapt up on the back of an older male and slit his throat with a sharp blade that she clutched in her devilish little paw, before she herself was speared through the back by a long polearm that followed through and punctured through the torso of the victim she had just killed.

I could barely stomach to watch it on the television.

How would I stand it when I was actually there?

When I could hear the screams and smell the blood and…

I suddenly retched as one of the tributes was brutally disembowelled by a string of wire that someone was using as a makeshift saw, cutting through their belly and turning their guts into a crimson froth.

I fumbled for the controller and clamped my finger down on the power button in disgust, turning off the television as I tried to will the bile back down. I couldn't even get through the first two minutes. It was so brutal, so terrifying, so bloodthirsty.

How was I supposed to be able to survive against people who would disembowel each other, who could throw spears hard enough to skewer two tributes like a shish kebab, who could leap on someone's back and slit open their throat… I couldn't even watch these things happen on a screen…

I palmed my face in my hands.

How was I supposed to survive this?

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 ** _So there we go, did you all enjoy?_**

 ** _What did you think of Padget and Lowelle?_**

 ** _Also, just a note about Padget, I did change a few aspects of her personality (She identifies as female, but Lowelle doesn't care about that, hence referring to Padget as 'him' in her pov) in the original submission she was more comfortable with her gender identity, but she was also submitted as a female tribute (which we agreed to change because the Capitol really wouldn't care about the gender identity of a tribute) so I decided to play on the slight discomfort in her and I hope her submitter likes this element to the character..._**

 ** _But yes, please let me know about what you think of the characters, and also how you like the plot revelation there from our lovely escort!_**

 ** _The next chapter may feature a slight change in setting but lets see what happens..._**

 ** _3 Please review, and stay tuned 3_**

* * *

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male: WolfGang Schwarz- 18

Galactic Coach

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 1

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female: Ryana Ruiz- 14

 _AmericanPi_

Male: Ceres Syth- 16

 _Maveriqua_

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female: Doe Decem- 16

 _roses burning_

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female: Chrysanta Bloomtown- 16

 _Skyheart003_

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

 _ThePocketwatchRipper_

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male: Splice Wellwind- 16

 _HoppsHungerfan_


	9. Chapter Seven: Indifference

_**So I haven't been great at updating for the past few months, but since my last update I have: finished my degree, found out what I am graduating with, got a new job, got my own flat, started living alone, been watching Game of Thrones...**_

 _ **So it's been a crazy few months. And I did struggle with this chapter.**_

 _ **I don't know whether it was having to write another Reaping, or these two characters, but I have knuckled down this week and managed to write one of my longer chapters, so I hope it makes up for being quiet for so long. It has different elements, maybe you'll all hate it, but hey-ho.**_

 _ **I am so excited for this story, excited to write the arena and the capitol, but I have to wade through these Reapings first.**_

 _ **I would like to say I'll update regularly, but the truth is I don't know how often it'll be. I work 5 days a week and do 8 hours a day, plus 2 hours of commuting... So when I am at home I don't always want to sit back in front of a screen...**_

 _ **But I'm going to aim to keep going and try and get out one chapter a month, but we'll see how it goes. When we get past the Reapings I imagine I'll speed up, but I have to get there first.**_

 _ **So here goes,**_

 _ **District Seven**_

 _ **Javor and Juniper**_

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

 _Indifference_

* * *

 **Javor Acton**

 **18 Years Old, Male, District Seven**

My fingers were reaching out subconsciously, clawing for a pencil, such a simple little implement that I would normally have needed to get me through a stressful situation such as this. When I felt that nervous wave of nausea that made driving in the small car along the only slightly uneven road through the woods feel like I was on a ramshackle boat in District Four during a storm, I felt my fingers tensing up, longing to grip a small graphite stick and a piece of paper. Writing was my only outlet. I couldn't cry. I couldn't scream.

I needed a pencil…

Writing was always a way to get my emotions out, but the pencil was the specific way to do it… When I went to work, I got to use an electronic writer, to spout out Capitol propaganda in the newspaper for the District. It was boring to write, but it was the best job I could have really hoped for; there was only one junior writer employed at a time; I was lucky that most other people eligible didn't want to write the propaganda. It wasn't something I supported or enjoyed, but it certainly made a change from working in the paper factories; my hands were still scarred from the blisters I would get from handling the hatchets all day, trying to get all of the bark off of the timber before it passed into the chipper.

But when I was at home, perched on the corner of my bed and listening to my Father stumble about downstairs in a drunken fit, all I had was a few pencils that I had hidden in a small box underneath the back corner of my faded mattress. A little wooden box that had everything personal I had ever written inside of it.

I went through it sometimes after he passed out downstairs, re-reading everything I had scrawled out on the crinkled pages that I tried so hard to keep crisp. Some of them talking about my days, some of them writing things that I had seen from other people's perspectives, others were purely fantastical. I even wrote a little bit of pornographic stuff, which I was sure my friends would have wanted to borrow had they known about it… They had a couple of unsavoury stains on them, it happened no matter how careful I was, but I kept them anyway; I had slaved over writing them and they were still good to read whenever I needed some release of a different kind.

But right now that little box filled with hours upon hours of scrawled writing was far away from me, back miles behind us underneath my bed. I didn't have a pencil now.

Instead I had the shivering memory of having my name called out by our latest Escort, a man who obviously thought far too much of himself. He seemed to be unashamedly displaying District pride with a curling design of leaf-like tattoos that ran up his left shoulder, climbed his neck and framed one side of his face with various shades of green ink. The leaves jutting off of the design seemed to be adorned with small sparkling gemstones that glimmered like dewdrops when the late-afternoon light managed to snake through the trees and catch the jewels in its rays.

I didn't lose it though, not like my stumbling District partner. There was only perhaps a second on stage when I felt my face crack, when that weight of realisation hit me in the face like a mallet. I'd been chosen, on the last year I would have ever had to stand in that square. The memory would still haunt me until the day I died… Though that time seemed to now be edging closer by the second…

It had never been something that had caused me much concern. I had never lain awake at night picturing the hellish predicament I was currently enduring. Never once had I stopped to worry about what I would do if I was called one year. I had never imagined myself within the arena, fighting other people my age for the chance to survive.

I guess that part of that came down to what I was used to within District Seven. We never worshipped the Games like some of the richer Districts did, but we didn't hold the same fear of them that most of the other Districts tended to have. We won the first game there ever was, an achievement that nobody else could ever replace.

I remember watching the footage back a few times, where Pine Stepewood, our hero who was little more than a decaying corpse in the ground now, held his own; wielding an axe like it was an extension of his arm. Back in those days, there weren't really any alliances. From what I was aware the Capitol made sure that the instigation of the Hunger Games created rifts between each District as the competition to survive became all the more fierce. There weren't the same alliances that tended to crop up now. Especially in recent years where people worked in groups as much, if not more, than they decided to go it alone. It was so different.

District One, Three, Five, Six, Eight, Eleven and Twelve, all Districts who didn't have any sort of experience in any of the weapons provided in the arena, struggled; even the tributes who were well fed or especially attractive weren't really able to hold their own. Whereas the rest of the tributes at least knew how to hold these tools that became instruments of death. Scythes and sickles, pickaxes and sledgehammers, harpoons and filleting knives, axes and hatchets, whips and lassos... All things we learned in school that actually allowed us to fight for survival.

Of course it was different now. People watched the games every year and picked things up, some trained even though they weren't officially allowed to, and the mentors who trained us for the games were more patient and dedicated. Back 99 years ago the Games were primarily a punishment, but now they had become almost purely a twisted form of entertainment and spectacle. The more money that flowed into the process, the better trained the tributes were when they entered the arena. The better trained the tributes were when they entered the arena, the more 'spectacular' the Games would be.

But in District Seven, most of us were already trained how to kill before we even got Reaped. And we weren't just trained in how to kill flimsy people with flesh and bone, but solid trees that would blunt an axe sooner than it would yield. And that little fact is why Pine Stepewood won that first game. It was he, verses a hulking boy from District Nine. The girl from District Four was bleeding out with a knife in the gut from the boy from District Two whom she had kicked into a smouldering heap of tar.

It was just the two boys left. The guy from Nine had been lucky, he was huge, eighteen, and to those few Capitolites who gambled back then, he looked like a good bet. The memory of those final few moments in that arena would forever be engraved in my mind, watching Pine swing his axe down with such force that it punched through the ramshackle armour that his opponent had been gifted by the Capitol sponsors and crashed into his sternum.

District Seven won that first Game, and the fourth too. But by that point, a few years into the Games, the Capitol began finding them more and more brilliant. Started paying more money and placing more bets, but in return they wanted glamour, drama, personality… They wanted to see the character of each tribute shine through, they voted for the handsome men and the pretty girls; the willowy blondes from District One who were confident, pretty and worryingly lethal, the boys from District Four with leanly muscled physiques and arrogant smiles…

We weren't as popular with the Capitol as others were, and though we were competent with knowing how to fight, the Game became as much of a popularity contest as anything else. There wasn't that much fighting compared to how long the games tended to last for, most of it was the survival skills, topped up with sponsors and gifts. We still won, almost as many as the richer Districts did. We even got volunteers from time to time, like our most recent, Larch Newfound, who just scraped through with a few nasty injuries. He spurred a trend of volunteering that had carried on for the last few years.

I guess that was why I thought I might be safe.

But this year nobody volunteered.

I guess they had all given up.

I glanced over at my District partner for a few moments, before turning away again; trying to take a decent enough look to see whether she would be worth allying with. District pairs quite often worked out as adequate alliances. At least, sponsors apparently liked it.

But I didn't know whether I wanted her to be on my side. I had met her once or twice; we went to different schools but we were the same age so we had crossed paths a few times. She was tall and thin, not quite malnourished but still somewhat deprived of something. She was pretty, I supposed, with her short honey-coloured hair and her womanly facial features, but I didn't imagine she would be much help in the arena.

She had married an older man when she was still pretty young; I remembered hearing about it a few years ago. I didn't know it was her that they were referring to but I knew about the situation. I didn't know enough to be able to list off every detail but I knew that she had a child with him. She gave birth at sixteen and there was some ruckus about the legality about it all. The editor of the paper didn't want to write about it though. We covered something else about the latest trend of mahogany ornaments in the Capitol.

It didn't look promising.

Even if she _was_ strong, fighting with everything she had, she wasn't strong looking, and her husband was rich enough that she didn't even need to work. I didn't want an ally who would be feeding off of me. I wanted one who would have my back, who would be strong and efficient, a good compliment to me. Not a girl who would weep about her child through the arena.

It sounded heartless, but her kid would be fine if she passed away. A rich daddy who would probably find a new pretty young girl to wed before the kid was even three. I doubted the legality of it, but he was high up in the ranks of the District, friends with the mayor and boot kissing with the Peacekeepers whilst treating his employees poorly. Probably just the sort of person the Capitol wanted to have around just in case the Mayor ever needed replacing…

Her kid would be fine. Probably better off. The girl sat next to me didn't seem to be entirely present… Off in her own little world whilst her body was limply thrown up and down on the bumpy road like a ragdoll falling down some stairs. I wasn't comfortable myself, but I was quite used to riding wagons about the District and they tended to be worse than this. I wasn't as bothered as she was.

She _was_ handling it better than Aldertree though, which I believed was the name of our pale faced leafy Escort. I couldn't tell whether I was only now noticing the green dye on his skin, or whether the dye was a result of his apparent nausea. I allowed myself the slightest hint of amusement on my lips as I glanced over at his discomfort. It was a very minor poetic justice, but I was happy to take what I could get.

It was a relief to have him quiet though, he was so talkative with the blank Peacekeepers in the corridor whilst I was saying my goodbyes that I could barely concentrate long enough to try and give my Dad a little bit of comfort, though I knew he would be too drunk throughout the games that he wouldn't see much of me. He'd just rage and crash about and pass out on the sofa like usual, then wake up in the morning with such a bad headache that to watch the poor quality tv in our home would be too painful for him.

But I _was_ glad for Aldertree's distraction when my Mother turned up, the fake look of concern on her face only reminding me how much she had ruined my Dad's life with her constant selfish narcissism, how her mad ranting drove him to alcohol, and even after forking out most of his inheritance money to get a new place for he and I to live, separating from his mad wife, he couldn't quit the stuff.

She didn't even say much, just stood quietly out of the obligation that she had as my Mother. I wasn't interested in listening to any of the few words that slipped out of tan lips. I was glad when the Peacekeepers removed her from my room, giving me time to start putting my emotions in their place.

I had been shut down for years, all because of her. Watching her whittle away at my father until he was a shell of himself had had a similar effect for me. It was difficult to keep caring about things like joy and love when you had watched them all turn to dust in someone else. But by putting all of those thoughts and feelings onto paper, at least I was making them harden, to last over the years. I could make them real without needing to feel them, without having them weigh me down and drag across my life like a great anchor.

Which is why, in that moment, with the emotional flood that was crashing within my head, waves of fear, anxiety, anger, despair, caution, confusion and even the faintest drip of excitement…

All I wanted was a pencil.

* * *

 **Juniper Alameda**

 **18 Years Old, Female, District Seven**

There must have been some mistake.

I was still convinced that this was the case; a stupid mistake had been made and I was being punished as a result. _That_ was the only reason why I was being tossed around in the back of a car going down a rough driveway through the forest, trees reaching up either side and piercing the sky, bathing the car in shadow. I was untouchable. For all of my husband's failings, he was powerful enough that I simply wasn't touchable by the Reapings. The Escort had clearly mispronounced my name instead of whatever was written on the slip of paper he had been holding. Other girls had the same name as me, and my married name, Alameda, was quite common in the richer part of the District. My husband had a big extended family. It was quite obvious that it wasn't correct.

I had attempted to mention it to Aldertree, but he just dismissed me without a second thought, hushing me and talking about how important it was to be dignified, before he bustled off to start talking to the Mayor about how long it had been since he had had his curtains changed, or something equally frivolous. I supposed I could understand his point of view. I imagined that the urchins who got reaped every year would weave simular stories. But _any_ simpleton should be able to tell that I was clearly not someone who should have been getting Reaped. It was ridiculous.

But I let myself sigh and accept that I would simply have to wait a little while before somebody realised their stupid mistake and came to apologise to me. It wouldn't take long. I was certain that someone would come and stop me before we got onto the train. At least, I didn't imagine they could possibly be incompetent enough to let a mistake of this magnitude occur, and then not spot it before it was too late.

Of course, I was always one who tried to make the best out of a bad situation. And just like my Mother had tearily said, that there would be benefits if I could win the Games, which shouldn't be too hard an achievement for someone like me, I didn't understand why she was cryin. Primarily, after winning I would have the money to leave my useless husband and take my baby girl with me. She deserved better than a man with hairs growing out of his ears to be her role model. A younger man, handsome and rich, who looked after us and left us wanting for nothing. Just because I would be a Victor doesn't mean I should have to provide for any man looking to romance me...

My useless Husband may have provided me with money, which meant luxuries. Baths with hot water and soaps that didn't smell like decaying fruit. Alcohol that was rich and thick and wasn't made out of decaying fruit. Wondrously smelling pouches, that perhaps were made out of decaying fruit… But it had been dried and treated and was mixed with exotic spices and herbs, not just the things that fell off of the merchant's stalls. He provided me with those things and more, and he kept me comfortable.

But he kept himself much more comfortable; buying himself new clothes imported from District Eight and new colognes imported from District One before he bought gifts for me. Spending his money on expensive alcohol that he knew I didn't drink. Roaming around town, putting what he had between his legs in whatever warm places he could find. The whole District knew exactly what he was doing, but I feigned ignorance for the sake of my family. I was never returning to poverty and squalor again.

When I thought too much about how life used to be, back when I lived in a hovel with my parents, I got a distinct burning feeling in my hands and arms, remembering how it felt to spend all day every weekend hacking through wood with hatchets and saws. How my hands grew so calloused over time, how my fingernails were wrecked and tatty… It almost brought a tear to my eye, looking down at my perfectly pointed fingernails and imagining them ruined again. I refused to allow it.

To have Tamir shove himself into other people as opposed to myself was hardly a huge drawback in comparison… Whichever girl or boy he shoved himself into was just one less time he shoved himself into me. In fact, perhaps another positive, if I did end up being a part of these games; it meant I would still be nice and tight for whatever future man proved worthy of me… When I was the Victor every male in the District would want to romance and marry me. I would have such a plethora of options I wouldn't know where to start.

Maybe I would make them compete in a different type of _Hunger_ Games…

The more I dwelled on the thought, the more appealing it seemed to be.

I would get everything I wished for. And the Capitol would provide it on a platter. I was beautiful, glamourous, delicate… I had a young child… The Capitol would shower me with gifts and blessings in the arena, they would sing my praises and root for me at every gathering they held whilst the Games were taking place. The other tributes simply wouldn't want to hurt me, they wouldn't _dare_ to try.

And if they did, I would kill them.

I could already picture the strong male tribute from one of the wealthier Districts, who would fall head-over-heels for me. Who would be my own personal protector and die for me if he needed to. I would not lift so much as a finger whilst he strove to protect me, to find me food, shelter, water, to keep me safe from any threats, to tend to my every need in return for one of my smiles… And all the while Tamir's little face would be burning up with rage and jealousy.

Then, nearer the end of course, when his finite use had run its course, I could simply dispose of him and let that be that…

I wondered if my partner would do.

I glanced across at Javor, who looked as sullen and angry as he had for the entire time he'd been in my presence… It wasn't the worst front I had seen. He looked cold and lethal, his dark eyes staring into a fixed point on the chair in front of him. Glancing down at his golden-brown arms, the colour of fir bark in the shade of the tall trees, I could believe that he could perhaps fool someone into thinking he was tough, especially with the way he wore a tight, short sleeved top, which made his minor muscle mass look much more grand than it actually was. Of course, I knew he wasn't strong. Not at all.

He worked at the District Newspaper. You could count the number of boys in District Seven, eligible for the Reaping, who didn't work cutting trees for a living, on one hand. Thousands of boys and young men who swung axes all day, every day, cutting through strong trees. People whose chests bulged with muscle that threatened to tear their clothes and arms that simply wouldn't be contained by sleeves. And of course, I end up with one of them. And married to another… It was such a typical example of how horribly traumatic my life had been. I had to put up with true hardship that nobody else could possibly understand.

No, Javor wouldn't do.

Someone else then, maybe a gorgeously lean, yet deceptively strong boy from District One or Four, who were often the most handsome ones in the arena. One were pretty and elegant, with the perfect balance of being deadly and attracting sponsors, with pearly white smiles and dashing blonde hair. Four were lean and muscular, with athletic physiques and briny skin taught with years of practice holding a weapon. District Two's boys always seemed a tad brutish for my tastes… I didn't want a brute.

But for now, before I could move on to thinking about establishing alliances inside the arena, I needed to establish the most important alliance of all. Aldertree. If I were to end up going onto this train, which was a more appealing thought by the second, I would need his support more than anyone else. Pretending I was none the wiser about the obvious mistake that had been made wouldn't be difficult. In fact they might just completely overlook it, if I failed to draw attention to the fact.

"Sir…" I demurely questioned, putting on my most concerned face. "Are you okay: you look a little ill…" It was the perfect start, worrying about him more than myself. He would adore it.

"Oh I'll be fine…" He returned with a somewhat pained grimace on his face, twisting towards me slightly so that I got a better view of the leafy body art decorating his face and side. "The Capitol's roads tend to be much smoother than this; it's not proving to be the most comfortable ride." He spoke with that same Capitol accent that the Mayor had inflections of in his voice.

Aldertree was actually handsome, more so than I would have really expected. The jewels embedded in his skin that were decorating his leafy tattoo were a glimmering forest green that was echoed perfectly in the shadow above his eyes and the dyed ends of his dark, thick, hair. Even his forest green beard wasn't so off putting up close; it actually was quite a compliment to his coffee toned skin… But I wondered if perhaps being too flirtatious with the Escort would cause issues when I romanced a fellow tribute. What sane man _wouldn't_ get jealous over me?

I noticed Javor send me a glance with his apparent trademark angry face, but I dismissed him. He was obviously not happy that I had had the sense to try and pursue Aldertree's affections whilst he sulked in the corner with his head pressed against the glass and his hand groping at his own leg. I was making all this effort, and there was a good chance that I wouldn't even be going into the arena in the first place.

At least I wasn't going to have to compete with my District Partner for sponsors…

That was a plus.

"How much farther?" Aldertree asked, with a loud voice accompanied by a soft rapping on the back of the driver's seat. "We're already pressed for time as it is!"

"Just another few minutes Sir…" The driver returned softly, making Aldertree huff and crash back into his seat as if he had been given the worst news in the world. I, meanwhile, had a decision to make. Point out the obvious mistake in the Reaping. Or go through the process with a little hard work for a much better life at the end… Decisions.

I obviously didn't want to stay married to our

Soon enough, as the driver had told us, we were stepping out of the car, onto the entirely out of place looking train hub that sat as a concrete oasis in the middle of the damp, green forest. Aldertree had barraged past and was already walking up the steps onto the platform, looking at his watch and huffing again. Javor was too busy admiring the mud and the treeline to be in a hurry, so I took my chance now.

I hadn't decided yet, but it couldn't hurt to test the waters…

"Aldertree…" I asked him softly, walking up the concrete steps up onto the platform in front of us. "I was just wondering something, if you don't mind…" He turned his head, and his head alone, like a peculiar little bird, his eyes glinting with permission for me to go ahead. "About the Reaping paper…"

"Oh yes." He returned simply, as if he were pre-aware of my complaint and error. Perhaps he wasn't such a fool after all. "Here you are…" He handed me a small, folded once, square of card from his pocket. "I know that sometimes tributes want to keep them… By all means…" He seemed disinterested now, his glance nipping over to whatever was going on behind me.

I unfolded the square, ready to see the name of some other lower-class idiot who had the great fortune of having a similar name to me.

I felt a dash of cold trickle back through my spine.

 _Juniper Alameda_

I let out a small cough, more from being startled than from anything else. I couldn't believe it. Somebody else obviously had been using my name. That was the only possible explanation for it.

Perching myself down on the corner of a small metal bench, I took a deep breath and planned out my next move.

It was going to be a real struggle to convince that idiot that there were obviously two people with the same name as me… I had to do it in such a way that would avoid annoying him and making him dismiss me again.

Now that it seemed that my chance to choose whether to go or not was falling away, I suddenly found myself longing for one particular outcome.

To stay…

* * *

 **Javor Acton**

 **18 Years Old, Male, District Seven**

Juniper had perked down a little now… She seemed more withdrawn than she had been when we were sat in the car, suddenly getting all intimate with our Escort, batting her eyes at him and fawning over him in quite worrying ways. She obviously missed it, but he rolled his eyes at one point, quite dramatically. He wasn't going to go for any obvious attempts to get his attention on her.

He seemed waiting for us to prove ourselves worthy of his attention, rather than trying to shape us how he wanted. But perhaps that was more the job of a Mentor… Which led me to wonder why they were yet to arrive. We had at least four who should be coming, Blight was getting on a bit now, but Larch Newfound, Oak River, Ivy Bak and Joanna Mason were all still very capable. We usually got at least two.

I was hoping for Larch and Ivy. Oak was a good tribute, but he got very lucky with a fairly strong alliance that year. The boys from Ten, Seven and Three and the girls from Eleven, Ten, Eight and Six all banded together in a strong alliance that turned the games into a battle between two alliances. Without the alliance, Oak wouldn't have won. And Joanna… Although she was brilliant, and terrifying, her strategy had been to underplay her wicked ability to murder. Which worked for a scrawny girl who pretended to be feeble and weak, not so much for a fairly strong looking eighteen year old male.

Perhaps Juniper could take a leaf from her book. I glanced over at the girl again, where she was sat twirling a finger through her hair and looking considerably paler than she had done in the car. No. She was far too prideful to do that. I could imagine her sailing through her interviews, soaking in the attention from the Capitol during the parades, flirting with any male tribute who was strong and dumb enough to be coaxed into being her protector…

I'd seen it done before. One of the first games I watched, I was only six or so, but I had seen highlights played regularly enough. The girl from Eleven, a womanly figure with an ample bosom, curvy figure, and her thick dark curls braided through with strands of gold by her stylist. She seduced half of the guys in the arena apparently. None of them really ever tried to hurt her and she drifted from alliance to alliance without much thought. Yet she was as cold hearted as the rest.

She never actively killed another tribute, but when running away from some mutts, her latest suitor chivalrously letting her go ahead of him, she threw down a clustering of caltrops and let him walk right through them, wounding him seriously and practically skipping away as the mutts devoured him alive. I could see Juniper using that strategy.

I scoffed to myself lightly, tossing a little pinecone up and down in my hand.

I never realised I had paid so much attention to the games. I despised them and generally hated the time of year we were made to watch them, watch people kill each other and get killed by devious traps and creatures that shouldn't have existed. Apparently I had paid much more attention than I realised. Perhaps the details were a little foggy, but I could remember some of the faces, the names, the deaths.

It was hard to believe that this year, people would be watching me in the same way I had always watched them.

A sharp clanking sound swooping through the trees turned my head, making me look out into the woods with a slight twitch in my writing arm again. Nervousness. I was jumpy and irritable. I felt sick in my stomach and wanted more than anything to be anywhere else, anywhere other than at the train station in the middle of District Seven.

"Finally." Aldertree breathed from his position leaning lazily against the column next to me, standing straight and brushing himself down. I wondered how old he was, he only started with us last year, and his somewhat lax nature seemed to indicate he was young. He looked young. But then most people in the Capitol did.

"Come on you two, get yourselves ready. The train is already late so we don't have time for your dilly-dallying." He told us with a slight hint of scorn, as though he expected us to be wasting time and be late somehow. I don't know how he thought that, it wasn't like we had anything to bring with us, nor could he make any prior presumptions about us from the time we'd already spent together. He wasn't how I imagined an escort to be.

I stood myself up, realising how sore my back was from being hunched over for so long. I stretched myself out as a very soft humming started to fill the air, slowly, as if something was closing in from far away. I awaited the noise to reach a crescendo as the train bulldozed into the station, but sure enough, this soft humming was all that there was to accompany the arrival of the enormous vehicle.

The train was sleek and metallic, and I imagined that in the midday sun it was blinding in its intensity. Its silence was the most peculiar thing for me; how little noise it made for such a huge piece of machinery. Even as its door opened there was nothing more than the faintest sound of whooshing from the air being pushed through by the mechanical door.

Aldertree made an immediate beeline for the open door and I followed close, not wanting to be the subject to any more disapproval from him. Juniper, on the other hand, lazily strolled across the platform as if the whole world was going to wait for her. It wasn't. Every second that passed convinced me more and more that she would not make a good ally. Not even a good person to be around. She would ruin whoever she roped into some alliance with her. If she could even find someone gullible enough to fall for it.

I heard the Escort talking inside the train, assumedly asking us to hurry up. I took one last steely look at Juniper, holding it long enough for her to notice, before I glanced over the trees and took a mouthful of pine-scented air and stepped up and into the carriage. My nose was buffeted by a lingering fruity aroma that hung about inside, almost sugary in its intensity, a stark contrast to the fresh pine smell. It was the thing I noticed first and it made me feel both famished and nauseous at the same time. I hadn't eaten yet, I never did before the Reaping.

Following the little corridor took me into a large carriage, with Aldertree being the first thing I saw, cheek-kissing with another man who seemed unmistakably Capitolite, with three glimmering gems imbedded in an arcing pattern above his eye, sparkling in the same way that the mauve glitter he apparently washed with was shimmering across his skin.

"Brilliant to see you Patroclus!" Aldertree was saying as I walked in, before they separated from their 'friendly' greeting and turned towards us. "These are my two, Javor and Jun…" He stopped, craning his neck again to look behind me, only to realise Juniper hadn't even boarded the train yet, gazing off into the trees in the distance.

I heard the noise of fury seep from his mouth, before he swept past me like a torrent, leaving me with Patroclus. Whoever he was. And a figure who was sat in the corner of the room, though facing away from me so that I couldn't tell who they were. Not that I would have known either way, I supposed…

"Don't mind Aldertree…" This Patroclus spoke with a voice around the same pitch as Laverna, the editor of the newspaper I wrote for. But she was a tiny woman with a hell of a knack for getting her voice higher-and-higher when she was explaining something to me, until it got quite uncomfortable to hear. This was a fairly large man who spoke out with the same lilted tones that she did, his somewhat masculine, if not glitter masked, features making the voice seem comically out of place. It was a little off-putting. "He just likes things to be running smoothly; you'll grow on him…" He paused, watching out of the window as Altertree started hurrying Juniper, who only increased her pace a fraction. "She might not…" He added under his breath.

Good, I thought.

I didn't need the competition for sponsors.

* * *

 **Juniper Alameda**

 **18 Years Old, Female, District Seven**

The sofa was comfortable, a soft fabric, perhaps velvet. Against the back of my hand it was comforting, warm yet cool, soft yet tough. I did little but stare down blankly whilst tracing patterns in it with my fingers. I enjoyed the way that by running my finger one way, the material would get darker, and by running my finger the other way, it would get lighter. I made a mental note to buy velvet furnishings when I won.

Finding out that there was not, in fact, any evidence to prove that a mistake had been made was a little distressing. I found that once the choice had been robbed from me, I didn't want to be involved any more. I wanted nothing more than to gaze out over the high treetops that scratched at the clouds, which of course, I did. Until our blasted Escort hurried me like some peasant girl who was in the way.

And now, he'd abandoned us to go and talk with the glitter faced man and left myself and Javor in the company of a rather peculiar looking boy wearing a dress, whose broad shoulders looked absurd in the little strappy thing that would have looked much better on someone like me. Not that I would have ever worn it, of course.

The pair of them were faffing about with the television, whilst I was sat in quiet contemplation with myself.

Being in this carriage, with the luxury around me, reminded me exactly why it was a good idea to compete in these games. To win them. To give myself this sort of luxury for the remainder of my life was now essential. After being engulfed in it once, I would never be satisfied again without it. And this was a simple train, not even the glamour of the Capitol. I imagined myself being granted residence there after achieving victory, my little girl being shipped out to me for us to stay in luxurious accommodation for the rest of my life.

I smiled to myself at the thought, before bringing my eyes across the room onto the television.

I needed to start playing the game.

I wasn't that interested in watching the other Reapings, I was mainly interested in the stronger Districts, which housed the strong men who would protect me. But Javor and the other one were watching so I wagered getting a little information would put me at an advantage.

District Twelve, not anywhere I intended to place my faith in, were average at best. The girl was a fairly tall ashy blonde thing, with hair that floated about wispily in the dawn wind. She looked startled and terrified by her name being called. The boy shared that last trait, but he looked more self-aware, with darting eyes nipping about at the cameras so that the screen we were watching showed him directly glaring at the audience a few times. It might have been impressive, had he not been shorter than his female District partner. Not the sort of man who'd be taking care of me.

We then watched District Six, seeing a girl who wasn't familiar to me, before the little thing in the corner piped up.

"That's Lowelle…" The boy, mumbled quietly. "S-she'll be back soon. I t-think." He mumbled, before his eyes drew back to the screen. I noticed that Javor hadn't even turned his head, his eyes heavy with analysis as he watched the television in front of him.

It was the Reaping from Eleven which was televised next. And it was truly feeble. I cringed as I saw the girl howling with tears as the Peacekeepers dragged her ebony limbs towards the stage. The boy collapsed down to his knees, his pale complexion unusual to find in District Eleven. But he did manage a wicked smile at someone else in the audience before a Peacekeeper kicked him hard enough to send him sprawling onto his front, making him scramble up through the gravel to get to his feet.

"Undignified…" I breathed quietly to myself reaching over to take a sip of the tall glass of bitter juice that was on the table to the right of me.

District Three was a poor showing, with both tributes clearly terrified. District Ten was a mess, the girl tried to run away, whilst the boy dumbly smiled. District Eight had a degree of something about them, the boy looked somewhat determined whilst the girl looked tragically confident… But any expectations were lowered when District Nine involved both tributes being dragged to the stage.

Then we watched ourselves.

Nobody spoke, not even the little thing in the corner. We just silently watched ourselves.

And then, the real observations began.

"This is live…" Javor muttered to himself as he turned up the volume on the television, as we watched the Camera pan around from the estranged beauty of the sun setting into the ocean, onto the stage of the Reaping ground.

There was a volunteer before the scantily dressed Escort could even pluck one of the names out of the bowl in front of her. A stocky girl, with quite big arms, who looked like she could wrestle with a bear and win. She squinted and grimaced in the lights, but it gave me a boost of confidence. She wasn't very pretty really. She wouldn't be any competition for my goal of seduction. I looked forward to see what delicious man would step out of their crowd.

I was disappointed, to say the least.

The boy was disappointingly short. A booming voice, but short. He was muscular in the arms and legs, but my eyes couldn't really focus on that for very long. He wore a wrap around his head that indicated he didn't have much use for his second eye. If he was covering it up, I expected that it meant he was blind in one eye. I grimaced slightly.

I wasn't into that…

"Oh is this District Four?" A new voice chimed up, belonging to the girl with brown hair that waved down to her shoulders who I had seen in the District Six Reaping, looking freshly washed and smelling less like grease than the other one did. Her face was quite repulsively feline, with wide set eyes and small little brows that were raised, taught with interest.

The girl glanced at me with a smile that made my skin crawl, before she immediately sat herself down next to Javon. The slut. She was obviously planning to whore herself out to any man who would give her a chance to win the games. It was frightfully desperate.

"Yeah…" The little thing in the corner chirped up.

"How're they looking Peggy, what do you think?" She returned in a demure little voice that she probably only stopped using when she got on her knees to orally pleasure someone. Peggy, the boy in the dress, didn't seem to have much of an opinion. But of course, Javor perked up now that the District Six sex-worker had joined him.

"They seem strong, like usual, but the boy looked as though he had one eye…" He began, before I just simply shut him out. I could still hear them muttering, but I had zoned out, looking across at the counter on the screen that would indicate when the District Two Reaping was due to start. I wanted to see what _he_ looked like. I hoped he would be somewhat less misshapen than the District Four boy at least. I was willing to substitute brutish for disabled. I wouldn't be able to get someone to fall for me if I was so hideously repulsed by them myself…

I then turned my head again, looking out onto the horizon, where the almost fully set sun was just about revealing a hint of water on the horizon. I imagined we were journeying to another District. Aldertree had briefly explained that due to changes in the running of things this year, tributes would be sharing trains now. Perhaps the Hunger Games had lost some of its budget?

He mentioned other changes too, with his excited pal chiming in with an alarmingly high-pitched voice. The new Head-Gamemaker, the loss of mentors for this year, the arena that was so shrouded in mystery that nobody had any idea of what was coming, the refurbishments to the tribute tower… All of it was just noise to me.

It had made Javor seem a little distressed, which was amusing to watch, but none of it mattered to me. Mentors, mystery, refurbishments, none of it was worth a second thought, not even Aldertree's opinion was really anything of importance now.

I had my plan. That was all I needed.

I didn't need to bother with all of _their_ plans and ideas… I had myself.

I had natural beauty, which the Capitol would obviously adore immediately; I expected that they were already placing down heavy sponsorships for me. They would support my needs in the Games, showering me with gifts and safety so that I wouldn't want for a thing. And with a nice strong bodyguard from District One or Two to keep me safe, until it was just us left and I would be gifted some poison from the Capitol to kill him with…

I would hardly have to work for a thing.

Perhaps, just a tear at the end, when I had to watch my 'love' die.

I let a cold smile appear on my lips, as the carriage flooded with the same darkness that it had when we left the outskirts of District Seven.

I just had to grit my teeth and put up with a dreary romance for a while.

It was typical of my life.

Nothing ever went my way.

* * *

 **Javor Acton**

 **18 Years Old, Male, District Seven**

The entire process had been significantly different to how I had imagined it. Everything I thought I knew seemed to be wrong. No mentors. I wouldn't be getting Larch or Ivy helping me adjust my skills and telling me how to act. I wasn't currently sat with my Escort being tutored on what to say in interviews with the Capitol propaganda teams. I wasn't even being given time alone with my District partner to get to know them. Not that the last was actually bothering me very much…

Instead I was sharing my time with two tributes from District Six, as we slowed to a crawl approaching the train station in District Four. A District that we had just watched on television not two hours before, watching two formidable looking opponents volunteer for the chance to win these Games. And now they would be walking onto the train any second…

Lowelle, the girl from District Six, wasn't too bad. She seemed kind enough, and though she seemed to have an ulterior motive to her charms, she did have a few useful comments as we watched through the remaining Reapings. Peggy, the boy from District Six, who seemed to be presenting himself as a girl, didn't have much to offer, aside from a few questions that had rather obvious answers…

But as I turned and peered out of the window, Juniper loftily turning her head herself, peering out of the window, but seeming much more interested on the horizon, as opposed to the two menacing looking tributes now stood before us.

Wolfgang and Koral…

They were threats, very real threats. From watching the Reapings, they were two of the tributes who I could actually imagine killing me. The pair from District One didn't seem so threatening on stage, but they both volunteered, and it was one of the Districts that offered 'illegal' training for the Hunger Games. District Two was the other, with an altercation between the female tributes that was uncomfortable to watch, and a male tribute who had a voice that oozed a self-confidence beyond that of anybody I had ever known.

District Five also offered a pair who looked threatening, a volunteer for the girl, and a boy who seemed bored at the Reaping, so believably so that it didn't look like a front. Why but on a front that was so uninterested? People acted happy or confident, or cold. But acting as if it were nothing at all was entirely different…

I tried to push the pair of them out of my mind as the heavy steps of the two District Four killers walked up into the carriage, with Lowelle, Peggy and I looking at them as the entered, whilst Juniper seemed more interested in the dark view outside.

Their presence seemed to suck the air out of the room…

Suddenly I found myself wishing something that I never imagined I would wish.

I wished that I had never been a writer.

I wished that I had spent years swinging an axe instead…

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 _ **All I can say is that I hope you enjoyed it all!**_

 _ **Juniper in particular I was quite experimental with, I have written her a little bit more unhinged than I expect her submitter intended, but I wanted to take elements of her that would create a character who would stand out amongst the crowd.**_

 _ **Javor was a good one to write though, a really interesting little guy who I imagine a few people might be able to relate to.**_

 _ **But they were tough!**_

 _ **So we only have five Reapings to go!**_

 _ **Let me know what you thought of the Chapter, what you thought of Javor and Juniper, and anything else you'd like to say.**_

 ** _Every time a review comes through it makes me more excited to write the next chapter, and I know that I'll have lost a few readers after the long updates, so if you really enjoy the story, tell your friends_**

 ** _Plus, I have already got a sequel planned with a unique (as far as I can tell) Quell twist that makes me even more excited to write that one, so I'll need a big fanbase for all of those tributes!_**

 ** _And to those following who don't have a tribute in these games, but are still enjoying the story, you are the saints of SYOT. Often people wont touch something that doesn't have their own tribute in, which is often a real shame, because it becomes more about which stories they have characters in rather than the quality of writing. Because I do have to be honest, in my humble opinion, some SYOT's out there aren't strong on the written side..._**

 ** _But don't let that upset any aspiring writers out there! I was appalling when I started, and now I am actually quite good I think. If anybody ever wants any advice, send me a PM and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I want nothing more than to help out young writers and make this fandom strong again!_**

 ** _Remember to tell me what you thought of these two, and what your thoughts are overall, who stands out the most, who falls into the background, who might win, who you think will bloodbath..._**

 ** _It's all information that I really am interested in hearing from you_**

 ** _So yeah... Please review, and I'll do my best to get a faster update out next time..._**

 ** _Bring on September!_**

 ** _(I write better when it's colder anyway)_**

* * *

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male: WolfGang Schwarz- 18

Galactic Coach

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 1

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female: Ryana Ruiz- 14

 _AmericanPi_

Male: Ceres Syth- 16

 _Maveriqua_

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female: Doe Decem- 16

 _roses burning_

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female: Chrysanta Bloomtown- 16

 _Skyheart003_

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

 _ThePocketwatchRipper_

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male: Splice Wellwind- 16

 _HoppsHungerfan_


	10. Chapter Eight: Strife

_**So... Here we are.**_

 _ **I can only apologise for the enormous time it has taken me to get this update down.**_

 _ **I do intend to get these things done quickly. And when I really get into the swing I can write like thousands of words in a single sitting. But this Chapter was spread out.**_

 _ **Having said that, I wrote about 75% of the chapter in the last few days alone. I've been struggling to find the time and energy to sit down and have a proper writing session in the past few months, but I am so glad I did.**_

 _ **I really enjoyed writing this Chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it too. I've really spiced it up and done a few new things that'll hopefully make it nice to read. It's also around about 10,000 words so it's definitely my longest one so far, so hopefully that takes some of the sting out of the months it took to get it to you.**_

 _ **So I've only got four reapings left and then we're onto the more exciting stuff. And I've already got plans for Nine and I've written some of Ten so fingers crossed that I wont be such a menace with these next updates.**_

 _ **But anyway, you didn't wait since August to listen to me waffle.**_

 _ **Enjoy**_

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

 _Strife_

* * *

 **Eloise Falcon**

 **17 Years Old, Female, District Eight**

"Oh... I can only apologise for the locale…" She apologetically muttered as she walked. "I did _specifically_ ask the Mayor where the _nicest_ view in the District was, and _this_ is what he gave me to work with… Oh Honestly..." Our Escort continued in a most melancholy tone as she strolled across the thin walkway, which led onto a large concrete structure that I imagined was some form of landing pad for hovercraft. There was a refuelling station at one side of the pad, with a set of storage containers at the other that no doubt contained weapons and other riot suppression equipment. For a District notorious for underperforming in the arena, the Capitol were always on high alert for riots.

I guess their need for fashion and fabric was more important to them than the things the other Districts provided… Like food and energy… It really demonstrated how backwards the Capitol really were.

But Fatima wasn't quite meeting my dim expectations; she was a lot different to how I would have expected her to be, how I imagined Escorts in general. I'd have expected her to be more airheaded, gossipier and waffling on about fashion and popularity. Perhaps some ignorant waffling about how _lucky_ we were to be a part of these games, and how privileged we would be to get to enjoy the Capitol's favour for a few days. Instead she actually seemed caring and considerate; at least towards the two of us anyway. It made me feel like our lives _mattered_ to her, and our comfort _mattered_ to her. Of course, it probably did, considering our lives were now worth quite a lot of money...

But still, she was going through quite a lot of effort to do things that she didn't need, nor want, to do. Providing a 'light lunch' that was more food than I had ever seen in one place before, was one example of that. Bowls of fruit, bread that looked fresh-baked, little cakes and pastries that seemed to glow with temptation, sandwiches filled with things that I couldn't imagine tasting nice, yet I was still desperate to try them all. Shellfish and mayonnaise, chicken with some sort of vibrant green mush, fish and cream cheese... We were lucky if we even got to eat meat that didn't come out of a tin. Being led towards such a buffet was the most bizarre experience, it bordered on hallucinogenic.

She found our little hovercraft picnic spot just aside from the train station, a nicer part of the District where we got a view of the river and the fields of cotton that grew out as far as the eye could see. Fatima obviously wasn't quite as impressed as I was, in fact, she seemed a little disappointed that this was the best the District had to offer. But for me, to be this far out from the workshops and factories was a breath of relief. It could almost make me forget about my impending death.

But only almost...

The little table was set up on a slightly higher platform from the rest of the hover pad, most likely a command post of sort, or communications station perhaps. Either way, it looked ridiculous with the brightly coloured table and equally bright spread of food displayed on it, with a large material gazebo covering it from the harsh midday sun. It was comically out of place.

Just like I felt.

I watched as she bristled about, almost insect like, as her elaborately structured peplum seemed to get in the way of every one of her actions. She seemed a little confused upon encountering her chair tucked underneath the table, but quickly adapted and managed to pull the seat out just enough to wrestle herself and her skirt into a seated position. I followed suit, trying to mimic her actions the best I could in order to capture a half-decent first impression. Everyone knew by now that you needed sponsor support to make it anywhere in the arena, and she may well be able to push an extra sponsor in my direction. If she liked me enough.

But that little fact always confused me. District 8 were the textile providers for the Capitol. Surely that counted for something? We created the materials they used for everything, upholstery, decor, and of course, clothing. Why we didn't get more support each year was absurd.

Yes, with some of the Districts it made sense. The Capitol didn't care much about grain, or agriculture, or power… Those were just things that they had, they likely didn't even register that they only had those things because of the corresponding Districts. But Textiles? That should have been more on their radar. We even had several lines of warehouses, or sweatshops as they should have been called, making the essentials. We shipped them most of the fabrics that they used to stock their own haberdasheries, even making some of the clothes they wore ourselves.

Of course, they didn't trust us with anything that had much flair. We did the very basics. Underwear and plain tops, trousers and skirts, that were shipped off to the other Districts at a heavily inflated price. The uniforms for Avox and Peacekeepers, but these were reserved for more experienced sewers. And then there was a few select items that the Capitol didn't care as much about. Uniforms; aprons and such. Items that were not really clothes and were probably restricted to Capitolites that were at the dregs of the Capitol's utopian society. Those who had to serve as cleaners and workers for those superior.

Yet they were still a good few paces above us.

"Well don't just sit there, dig in!" Fatima almost instructed with a small smile, gesturing towards the platters in front of us in an expectant way. "You need to eat as much as you can, to get your strength up for the arena."

This was her first mention of the games, of what we were actually here for, what all of the special treatment was about… She had done it carefully; just laced it into the conversation enough to remind us both of it. She was testing us. Trying to see if we were going to suddenly well up and sob, trying to see if we would be worth the investment she was going to have to put into us in order to get us up to scratch.

"The tributes who are the best fed tend to be the first ones to start suffering from hunger in the arena…" My District partner, Stark, returned blankly, a cunning intellect in his voice as he reached out for a small piece of fruit, taking it up to his mouth and taking a confident bite, though a small bite nonetheless.

I caught the expression on Fatima's face as the words left his mouth, her eyes lighting up with the promise of money almost instantly. I wasn't sure whether she had intentionally tried to lay this comment to see if either of us would pick up on it, or whether Stark had just corrected her too. Either way she was now impressed and the scale of interest was leaning towards Stark more than myself; I had little doubt that Fatima would put her attention on whichever one of us looked more likely to bring her the most money.

I was happy to focus my attempts on winning over our mentor.

It would either be Cecelia, who was in her fifties now and probably wouldn't have as much advice to provide. Or it would be Sheer, who was in his early thirties and could probably offer a little more tactical incite.

Cecelia's games had been played a few times; every few years or so they showed us the games that our District had won. Maybe some form of sick encouragement to try and get people more enthusiastic about the Hunger Games. From what my Mother had told me, in the years since the former President had stepped down, his successor had been slightly more lenient with the Districts, there were fewer executions at least… Those who committed crimes that were severe enough to warrant more than a hard flogging, got taken on a train to the Capitol and weren't heard from again.

Mother said that the threat of that unknown fate made those rebellious people more disconcerted than when the punishment was death. Disappearing to the Capitol no doubt meant worse than a bullet in the skill. It meant torture and enslavement. During a lecture my mother had to give about Avoxes at school, a lecture clearly designed by the Capitol to scare children into submission, the gruelling process of turning people into Avoxes was horrific enough to make even the feistiest child stop and think. These criminals became the Capitol's slaves, or perhaps their pets would be a better term for it.

Death was a kinder fate.

My brief moment of Avox induced worry took my attention away from my real goal, trying to work out how to win over Cecelia or Sheer… Cecelia was one of those Victors who had crept through over the years, one who, although you couldn't class her as being innocent, she wasn't a vicious and brutal killer by the end of the games like most ended up. She killed, you had to, but she had a low kill count.

She was seventeen, she kept to herself in the arena, tried to avoid conflict. She sailed through with an average training score. She wasn't a beautiful woman. Nor did she look strong or intimidating… She was impossibly average. She didn't get much screen time in the games, the commentators barely mentioned her… She was all but forgotten.

Then suddenly, when the arena was down to five or so people left, the alliances splitting up and turning on each other, muttations released and causing chaos… Everyone suddenly remembered Cecelia. She had a sword and had obviously concealed her skill with it during the Gamemaker's sessions, not to mention how intelligent she must have been to go unnoticed even by the Capitol.

Cecelia was clever, she and I shared that. But her tactics relied on her going unnoticed, which were no longer valid. Since then the Gamemakers paid close attention to those wandering away from the action, usually constructing ways to push them back towards the action. Though I was sure she would have advice to offer about winning the Capitol's affections, which she did most expertly with the birth of her brood of children, she wasn't going to be able the combat and survival advice that I wanted.

Sheer on the other hand was more of a fiery combatant, quite literally. Apparently, he worked in one of the textile treatment factories in the poorest part of the District, where the workers spent all day in contact with dangerous chemicals and breathing in fumes. He was an unsuspecting boy, lanky and unkempt. His stylist clearly put in a lot of effort in getting him to look more presentable.

He seemed average throughout the process again, never scoring high on the polls, until they got into the arena. It was an industrial style, which put our District at a slight advantage to some of the more rural Districts. His knowledge from working in the treatment factory paid off when his experience handling chemicals allowed him to make rudimentary gas grenades and a few incendiary explosives.

It was all very haphazard, but obviously his training in the Capitol, along with his training in the treatment factory, provided him with enough of an understanding to be able to create some devastating effects. As such, the Capitol did a large-scale investigation of the District after his victory. You can understand why a fifteen-year-old with the ability to make basic explosives made the Capitol nervous…

But I wouldn't have time to learn how to make explosives…

I would have to take advantage of the skills I already had.

I had a talent for being on everybody's good side, for making sure that when the tables turned, i was turning with them. I also knew a thing or two about knives.

I wasn't formally trained, that would be illegal.

But my Mother had the unique opportunity, being a teacher, to give me and my Brother an extra thorough lesson on human anatomy. My Mother wanted us to have a chance in case we were reaped. She told us that although a stab to the heart or the brain would be an outright kill, there was a good chance that you'd hit a bone instead and lose your window.

She said that in the arena, you didn't need to kill someone; you needed to disable them enough that they couldn't hit you back. Most people smart enough to repair injuries that hit a key organ weren't going to be in the area that late.

The abdomen was the key area, stabbing upwards to hit the liver, following up with two or three more stabs for assurance. Or come from the sizes and aim for the kidneys, stab, twist and yank. The victim would be left with a gaping wound and severe internal bleeding. The other options were aiming for the arteries; an uneducated tribute would be trying to cover their head and chest, key areas. With a quick enough dash, you could nick the thigh or the groin and be running off before they realised they were going to bleed out.

Of course, I wasn't naive enough to think that the knowledge my Mother had taught me was going to win me the games. But I had hoped it would at least allow me to go into the training centre one step ahead of my competition, and not as far behind the Tributes who were properly trained for the arena as they would think.

It was common knowledge that they received training in District One, Two and Four. But after watching them in the arena year after year, it seemed to be training that leant more towards the handling of weapons rather than general survival skills. I had a fair understanding of the latter from Mother, knowing basic biology, enough to know a few tricks about identifying edible plants and how to treat water so it was drinkable.

I also knew a little of the former… Enough to get a good glance on one of them if they were to get sloppy…

I glanced up at Stark again, watching his behaviour, trying to work him out. He seemed both apprehensive and frightened, and yet slightly confident as well. Something underlying that combined together made him seem like a genuine threat. He wasn't overconfident like those tributes from the trained Districts, yet he was confident enough to second-guess our Escort, who, although wasn't exactly a font of knowledge and tactics, was there to advise us…

I didn't know whether I wanted an ally in the arena. I didn't know whether it would be a help or a hinderance to be having someone that was watching my back at all times; it wouldn't be hard for them to stab it.

It was hard to resist glowering in that moment, forcing me to snatch a sandwich and take a large bite to avoid looking suspicious. I _detested_ not being in the know about things.

And I wasn't in the know about Stark. I couldn't bloody work him out and _that_ was something that I was _always_ able to do.

There was nothing obvious about him, no tell-tale signs of a threat; he was tall, not muscular but fit enough for someone from our District. His skin was as pale as a wisp of cotton and his hair was as dark as oil, waving with a slight curl just below his ear. He was handsome, I might have spent a night with him if we weren't in this circumstance…

I ground up the sandwich with my teeth aggressively, barely bothering to taste it before I swallowed.

"Now then…" Fatima began, finishing with her mental fawning over the money that she now thought Stark was going to bring in for her and carrying on with important conversation. "I imagine you're both wondering what this little lunch is for…" She began, putting down her fork and gently dabbing her mouth with a soft napkin. "As I am sure you're aware, these are not usual proceedings."

"This year there have been a few, small changes made to the Games…" She began with a demure look on her face. "The new Head Gamemaker has decided to postpone the involvement of the previous Victors in the training process…"

My heart sank and I almost cursed aloud, using all of my experience with putting on a face to refrain from slamming my fist down on the table in frustration. I was relying on a mentor, someone to give me a few pointers and advise me on what was the best course of action to take. I wanted someone who could tell me what weapon would suit me best, what type of attitude would make me earn the adoration of the Capitol crowd…

And of course, how to last two hours without getting my throat slit…

"Now, and don't tell a soul…" She warned as she took a quick glance around, as if to make sure a whole news crew hadn't descended upon our table without her noticing. "But this puts you at a distinct advantage!" She sounded giddy with excitement, but I couldn't place a finger on what she meant.

"How does it help us? We don't get any help in the arena now." I returned, trying to put on a concerned and demure tone instead of the scathing lash of my tongue I wanted to give her.

"Well I wouldn't quite go that far Miss." She tartly replied. "All of the Escorts are now going to be in charge of your public relations and we have received a great deal of training on each of the training areas so we will be able to assist you." She began to open her mouth to continue to explain how having her be our mentor would be beneficial, when Stark talked just ahead of her, in his soft yet steely voice. "You needn't worry, I was one of the quickest learners during our Escort training!"

"It puts all the Districts on level footing…"

I could have kicked myself for not working that out first, mentally scolding myself as I watched Fatima's eyes light up with amazement. I was either being awfully slow today, or Stark possessed a wicked intellect. And since I was _never_ slow, it meant that Stark was a threat that was already making me bleed.

But he was correct.

Though it was a blow to lose the council of Cecelia and Sheer, it would be a far bigger blow for whatever tributes launched forwards to volunteer from District One, District Two, District Four, District Seven… Even Districts Ten and Eleven, who still had enough victors that losing them was a blow. Yet to us, it was an advantage.

"Oh I can barely relay to you the joy I received watching the smug faces dropping off of Auriel and Cordelia… Oh it was glorious!" I almost smiled at the way she had to stop and calm herself before she could return to the subject matter. Not an amused smile mind you… A self-pitying smile.

"Oh and I know he's a few years my minor… But seeing Keelan so hopeful set me alight… I never really noticed, but he is a truly gorgeous little specimen…" She continued rambling as I tried to resist any explosion of emotion that suddenly threatened to bubble up.

I wasn't some feeble little thing. I knew that I was one up from most of those people in the arena. But suddenly, for the first time in my life I was the one being ignored. Fatima had set her eyes on Stark quite clearly at this point. He had showed me up twice and I was playing catch up already. Without any mentors, with Fatima as our only source of aid, this little show of favouritism was a crippling blow more than ever.

I ran my hand down to my wrist, running my fingers along the cheap plastic cord around my wrist, a simple braided bracelet that my Brother had handed me less than an hour ago, as we had a little reminisce about childhood and all of those times I'd done something brilliant and made all of school laugh, made all of my friends want to horde around me, made plenty of boys and girls dare for my affections.

My fist balled with determination.

I didn't need Fatima's approval.

I just had to make the rest of the Capitol see what a worthwhile investment I was.

And I'd been doing that very same thing all of my life, with everyone I had ever met.

I stared across the table through my eyelashes, watching Stark tentatively try and eat a beef and horseradish sandwich with a knife and fork.

He was my main competition.

And he had no idea what I was capable of.

* * *

 **Stark Conwell**

 **17 Years Old, Male, District Eight**

I had always prepared for it. It had been a life ambition almost.

How to make District Eight a real contender in the Hunger Games.

I had just never imagined that I would be the one who needed to put all that information into practice; my odds were as low as they got.

But I also had a very real opportunity to show what District Eight had to offer.

I had my arms back behind my head, knuckles flushed against the cool glass window of the speeding train, which luckily for me, was barely noticeable. I hadn't eaten much at Fatima's little picnic, but needless to say the food was a lot richer than I was used to and It wasn't sitting too comfortably; the short car journey had riled it up. I guessed, due to her similar silence, Eloise felt the same, but that didn't bother me.

It gave me more time to think about my situation.

I truly hated having to sit by, year after year, and watch our citizens get slaughtered. I hated the Victory tours, where whoever won would stand in our District and offer some shitty eulogy to our fallen, a boy and a girl whom the Victor had probably never even given a second glance. I hated how the commentators would make some joke every year about District Eight having a chance. I hated how our tributes got neglected because they weren't the most handsome, or the strongest, or the most endearing…

Well I was determined to prove that this year would be different.

Eloise and I weren't unattractive, which should get us enough attention to start off with. But I was convinced that Fatima was going to be raving about how brilliant I was the second she was back in the Capitol. I wasn't being big-headed either, she just seemed giddy with my knowledge. Even the comment of not having mentors this year, a remark that I noticed had an effect on Eloise, wasn't going to bother me at all. I knew enough to be my own mentor. And with the way Fatima had taken to me, she might even be able to fill in the areas I was still unsure about.

My Sister, Lace, always questioned my interest in the games. Whenever I'd mention how frustrated I was with never having a chance, she would always say the same thing, 'At least we're not District Nine'.

It was true that they were worse off than us, they were the butt of _every_ joke made. They had had three Victors in ninety-nine years. The only two alive were in their seventies and probably no use to anyone any longer. But sometimes they got quite close. Some of them were eighteen year old field workers who were strong, fast, hardy… They had chances that they just didn't exploit. They got unlucky match ups in duels, or they got ambushed and outnumbered, or they just tripped over a twisted root that someone else didn't...

We never got that far.

Some years I would scream at the television set, much to my Mother's disapproval, about how stupid our tribute was being. It was truly dumb stuff that any idiot should know was a bad decision. Lighting fires at night, trying to escape tributes from District _Four_ by _swimming_ , eating the first piece of fruit they came across without thinking if it was edible, wandering into clear traps… It infuriated me.

Which spurred my own little research project.

Every recording of every year's Hunger Games was available at the library, and I had watched each one more than once. I would go over every detail, work out the traits of those who were likely to be the biggest threats, discern any pattern in the Gamemakers traps and plans, analyse the tactics that worked consistently and the ones that failed…

In my studies I had watched over two thousand different tributes die. I had seen heads smashed in, throats slit, hearts speared, guts torn out, limbs cut off, bones smashed, eyes gouged… I had watched tributes get raped, be tricked, break down from fear, scream in terror, get tortured for sport, eat corpses, get burned to death, starve, go hysterical from dehydration, succumb to illness and die in their own faeces…

But occasionally there were moments of real kindness. Tributes who had nothing in common forming stalwart friendships, falling in stupid love. Of course, at least one of them was always butchered before the games ended, but those little gleaming moments of hope were probably the only things that stopped my soul from rotting away in the hours I spent staring at the screen.

My plan had been to spread the information around, let everyone know what I had discovered. I hadn't got that far yet… But in some ways, that now put me at an advantage. My knowledge would be valuable without any Mentors, and I could pick and choose who to give it to. I had the opportunity to evaluate my allies based on what they offered me, rather than anything else. I didn't even have a reason to help my District partner.

But one allice I would downright refuse to make, was with the tributes that were generally known amongst the Districts as the Careers. District One, Two and Four. They often drafted valuable allies from other Districts who might have been threats. Over the years almost every District had been a part of this alliance at some point, and each of those years, the outsider, the lone outlier, was the one who got killed first when the pack started to pull apart.

I glanced over at Eloise, watching her sat with her knees to her chest, feet up on the velvet sofa, her dark hair curving behind her as she stared out of the window of the train quietly. Her green-blue eyes were focussed on the setting sun outside and on nothing else. She was either feeling a little queasy like me, or maybe just upset. I imagined it would be easy to be upset in her situation, from receiving less attention from Fatima than I had during our little lunch session, though for good reason. I was impressing Fatima with every opportunity, whilst she seemed to antagonise her more often than not.

But regardless of her feelings towards me, Eloise probably wouldn't be an ally of mine. I sensed she was jealous of me and being jealous of me meant she would like to see me fall. Fatima already seemed taken with me and I was going to use that to my advantage, just as she would if the roles were reversed. If I allied with her, then she would be absorbing any support that Fatima sent me, all for some cliche District partner alliance. I would be throwing away an opportunity to be getting some gold-standard sponsors. Gifts were like gold dust and Fatima would be pushing all of them in my direction if I continued to impress her. And now that it was something that the Escorts had control of rather than the Mentors, I expected she would be very liberal with the schmoozing.

Not to mention that sponsors would stop spending all of their money on the District to get a chance to suck up to their favourite Victor.

The ideal choice would be someone from another District in a similar situation, who was also getting popular with their Escort and would be getting lots of gifts directed towards them. That way we would be getting four tributes worth of gifts. If we were big enough characters to earn it of course.

At the beginning the games were just about killing. A tool to drive the Districts apart after their rebellion. Now it was a sensation, a drama like some Capital soap opera, full of emotion and scandal, intrigue and mystery, rage and heartbreak… Where once upon a time the strongest tributes were the only ones who got sponsors… Now the ones who were entertaining to watch got showered with gifts too, trying to keep them in the games for longer.

Everyone had a favourite who they rooted for, bet a lot of money on. Some chose the strongest, some the smartest, some the prettiest. Some followed the odds and others struck against them. The pattern of Victors was so erratic that even I couldn't work it out.

I was good at maths and statistics; but the sheer volume of variables in the arena were impossible to use to find any sort of pattern. It was dependant on everything.

The arena setting: deserts were ruthless, snow was deadly, forests were nerve-wracking, pastures were exposing, cities were deadly mazes, mountains were treacherous and jungles were rife with danger… Just to name a few… And of course, most arenas were a combination of multiple different environments to better keep us tributes on our toes.

The Gamemakers then had their traps and muttations that always took a few tributes each year. I'd seen everything from fanged frogs the size of cats to humanoid creatures which had some sort of wicked intelligence behind them. The games also hinged on what was in that valuable cornucopia each year, from a vast array of weapons so that nobody was spoilt for choice, to nothing but their bloodied fists, rocks and branches.

And the mood of the Capitol was just as pivotal. The Gamemakers could decide on a whim to unleash a sudden permafrost, a thunder strike, a firestorm, a horde of mutts, a flood… Killing whatever tributes they wanted at a given moment. And the audience had the power to send a bottle of water to someone dying of thirst, or spend the money giving a bouquet of flowers to the prettiest girl, or even body oil one year to a particularly muscular boy from District Two.

But ultimately, it always hinged on the type of tributes. When the Reaping pool was weak, with lots of young tributes, frail ones, people who didn't stand a chance, the volunteers took it easily. But when the tribute pool was of older, stronger tributes, the arena was fair game. Then the smarter tributes still had their own ways, the unsuspecting ones, the charismatic ones who formed alliances on the receiving end of a knife…

Each individual tribute was a completely different force acting on the pull of the game. Whether weak, strong, smart, cunning, scheming, charismatic, allied or alone… Every single person who went into that arena was crucial to how the games panned out.

And this year looked like it would be brutal.

A fourteen-year-old from District Nine was the youngest, and possibly the weakest too, judging by the way she had to be carried to the stage by Peacekeepers, and then collapsed when she got there. Though my analysis of her hadn't be as thorough as I would have liked; Fatima had spent the whole-time fawning over their Escort and talking about how the acting Mayor of District Nine would go far if he continued the way he was going.

The next was a fifteen-year-old from three, who was only slightly less terrified. Then there were at least six sixteen-year olds, which meant that over half of the tributes would be seventeen or eighteen. I hadn't yet watched all of the Reapings; Five, Four, Two and One were in the evening, but other than Five, I wouldn't expect any of them to be under seventeen.

And according to Fatima, before she slipped off to schmooze, we were en-route to District Two to pick up their tributes before heading to the Capitol, in a new attempt to have all twenty-four tributes arrive at the same time, as well as giving us a chance to socialise before training began. A chance to size each other up.

I was nervous about sharing a carriage with District Two's tributes; they tended to be some of the strongest competitors, and they hadn't won a game in seven years so I imagined they expected that a Victory was due. We were also sharing a train with the pair from District Twelve, but we had only met their Escort so far. The tributes hadn't left their room. But on seeing their Reaping, even they might be threats to consider.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was going to be a part of one of the best Games yet… Which, although best for the Capital, would not be best for me…

"Darlings?" Fatima called out as she approached from the next carriage along, having left the door open purely for that purpose. "Darlings…" She repeated as she entered the room, a small smile on her face as she did a quick scan to check that we were in fact both still on board the train. "We'll be arriving in District Two shortly…" She began, walking into the room and plucking a melon ball out of a glass bowl from the table. "You can meet the tributes but you really do need to be getting ready for bed after that. We'll be in the Capitol by midday tomorrow and we can't have either of you being tired…" She seemed truly concerned, maybe because if we were tired it might show up in the countless videos and photos that we would be forced to endure. Probably wouldn't look good for sponsors.

"Have you thought about what we should wear tomorrow?" Eloise asked softly, tearing herself away from the window and turning back towards the rest of the room. "Something bright so that we catch a lot of attention?"

"No I shouldn't have thought so." Fatima returned briskly. "We don't want to look like we're trying too hard; it'll look like we're trying to steal attention through overcompensation. No, no that won't do."

"Then maybe our District clothes? Make us look like we've come from our roots then?" She tried again, making me roll my eyes to myself. I had loads of theories about what fashion might be the best to wear tomorrow when the Capital first met us, but I knew better than to try and get involved at the Escort's plans about fashion. The Capital, their fashion sense and their trends were the biggest enigma of all.

"Oh darling I do love that you are trying to get involved but you leave all of that to me, I've already called your stylist and we've had a long chat and picked out a few outfits for you. You'll be perfect, don't threat." She paused, taking up the TV remote to show us something. "Now we still have a little while before we get to District Two, so I have thought of something excellent to show you! Oh I was there and it sent shivers down my spine…"

As Fatima started faffing about with the television, I realised Eloise's game. She was trying to impress the Escort in her own way. And although it clearly hadn't worked out how she had planned, her effort had probably impressed Fatima more than her stalwart silence would have. Fatima appreciated that she'd tried, perhaps more than she appreciated the fact that I hadn't.

It would take her a while, but she was starting to catch up.

Looks like I had competition after all.

* * *

 **Lucretia Cachexia**

 **Head Gamemaker**

 _Two days earlier_

My lips were pursed tight as I waited for the insect-like camera crew to assume their positions and cease their hovering about like dragonflies on a pond. The Escorts behind me were irritably excited, barely containing their giggles, like they were juveniles rather than experienced and well-trained professionals. Of course, it wouldn't be fair to blame them. To them, this was an incredible experience. Exciting, overwhelming… The event that everyone in the Capitol had been waiting for a whole year. The first live address of the new Head Gamemaker. In reality it was a short, minute introduction to my plans for the year, supplementing the various statements I had given to the media over the past few weeks. As such, it was little more than an annoying stopgap measure in my plans for the day.

Auriel, Cordelia, Piraeus, Thala, Antonia, Patroclus, Aldertree, Fatima, Keelan, Theo, Vivienne and Odette…

Each one of the twelve of them was selected personally by myself and each had all the necessary traits I required to have them work as Escorts this year. Despite my personal opinions of some of them, suck ups or those who supported my competitors in fashion, it hardly mattered. The Games were above all of that now, a priority transcending all others. It was more than important to have the perfect selection. And the twelve I had chosen, were just that.

Firstly, they were all popular with the general populace Capitol, all models, actors, singers, hosts, bloggers… All big on the social scene, well known and liked. Good enough to get people chit-chatting and sponsoring without the teeth-pulling that could sometime emerge. I didn't want all the sponsors in the same places like it often happened. I wanted them spread out amongst all notable candidates. These Escorts were bound to get the money rolling with any tribute who stood half a chance.

Secondly, they were all actually intelligent enough to be trusted with the responsibility of serving as a Mentor to the tributes. I wasn't cruel enough to let the tributes in the arena go in after being trained by airheads. All of them were as competent as any of the previous Victors in guiding their tributes, but their guidance wouldn't be hampered by their own experiences of the arena, and their knowledge was well rounded unlike the hordes of District Two mentors without a modicum of intellect between them…

Thirdly, they all understood what I was trying to do with the Games. Their original application process was lengthy and they had all needed to submit an idea of what they thought was lacking in the latest Hunger Games. They all mentioned to some extent, the inevitable predictability of it all. How you could usually guess the most likely winners from day one. Not always, in fact Raige of the ninety-seventh wasn't obvious at first, and Ranchton of last year hardly counted as a Victor… But before that there was enough predictability that it needed to be addressed.

But finally, and most importantly… I had dirt on them all. Plenty of information to blackmail if need be, but each of them had enough skeletons in their closets to destroy their reputation with a whisper. It was crucial that if anyone moved against me, their reputation was gone before they could utter a syllable.

Thala for example had that dreadful illness that she was paying the Doctors a generous sum to keep under control, and even more to keep quiet… And then Keelan was so blindly infatuated with the temporary Mayor in District Nine that he'd be easy to manipulate with a few veiled promises. Then there was sweet little Odette who poisoned half of her family to rig the inheritance to pursue her stardom… I always appreciated someone who could manage to brew a good poison…

"Lucretia, are you ready my dearest angel?" The director of the little exposé asked me, to which I gave an uninterested nod and squared up to the camera, ready to talk to my adoring fans. Of course, this wouldn't reach the Districts, unless the Escorts decided to show them… But the information would most likely be regurgitated in two days when the Reapings were all underway…

A small smile formed on my face…

"Good Evening Panem." I began politely, the fourteen cameras around all moving at dizzying speeds to capture my every angle, every seam on my dress and every pin in my hair. " I am well aware of the excitement buzzing through the Capitol in anticipation of my own mark on this year's Games… But I shan't be one of those who spoil all of the surprises now because of my own need for gratification… Besides, I understand Axel, Raige, Goldanna and Anvil are waiting for you all down on the Ossa Flickerman show and I wouldn't want to keep you all away from those beauties for too long…" I put in a sultry little expression at the end at the mention of a few of the most popular Victors from the last ten or so years. "Or of course, if you're in the mood for something a little more traditional, Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen and Enorbaria Golding will be joining Ilythia and Romulus this evening as part of this year's commentary panel."

I gave the viewers a moment to contain their excitement. Finnick was well adored and lusted after even now he was in his forties, a rare attraction to a Victor that remained sexual for so long. He was always a good addition to a panel, and not just as eye candy; his commentary was also in depth and a well formed inside perspective. Katniss was still well remembered as the girl on fire from her stylist's efforts and after last year's fiasco, I saw an opportunity to get her in as a model. She was now in the public eye even more than usual and outliers weren't always on the yearly panel; it would be a refreshing change to Glint McCallen who'd served the last few years, at least. And Enobaria was filling her seat because the Capitol always needed a good solid fighter on the panel, and Enobaria had always been a reliable model for me… I just adored her teeth.

"Now, I'm sure the news that our favourites will still be with us in one form has been a great comfort to you, since my announcement that our Mentoring programme would not be operating as usual this year…" I returned to a more serious tone, I didn't want to spend too much time on the fluff, I had work to return to. "So I think it is time for me to tell you a little bit more about what my plans for the Games this year will be…"

"I want to challenge our tributes more than ever. I want this year to be about more than who the best fighter, or the fastest runner is…" I paused for effect. I knew how to work a hungry crowd. "This year I have designed these games to give us a Victor who is truly worthy of the title. Someone who has the real knowledge to survive in an arena quite different from anything we've seen before… And my team and I have been working tirelessly for months to ensure that the threats in this arena will go beyond what we usually see. There are even a few key moments that I've planned to be quite different from what anybody will be expecting. I want to challenge expectations and push the boundaries..."

I took a small breath, lightly jerking my head to let a slight ripple bubble through my hair, removing a wayward strand from my face as I did so.

"These tributes will encounter things that test more than their ability to either fight or run, but things that will test their problem-solving skills, their morality, their willpower, their intellect, their cunning and so so much more. The Victor that we will see emerging from this year's games will be an individual with unique and exceptional ability. Someone who can really add to the perfection of our glorious nation." Although they weren't here with me, I could feel the audience eating each word like a drug coursing through their systems, even the Escorts were acting like unknowing fans as I revealed fact after fact. "And this is just the beginning… You all know that I can make the absolute best of a bad situation… And you know even more that I take a good situation and turn it into gold…"

I took a final pause, ready for the big comment that would leave them salivating for the rest of the week.

"So, if this arena keeps you on the edge of your seats, which I have no doubt it will…" I smiled seductively. "Then just imagine what sort of masterpiece I will make out of the one-hundred-year Anniversary Quarter Quell." A gave a brief moment for their excitement to plateau, before I signed off. "Thank you for watching, and I will see you all soon at our opening parade. Goodnight."

I turned the second the cameras were off, ignoring the songs of praise from the Escorts as I strolled through them, the long translucent tails of my dress parting them like a river of smoke. I could still hear them gossiping with each other like excited little children as I left the studio room, my chief aide immediately scurrying over to me as soon as I was within eyeshot of her, handing me a datapad without a word.

My eyes quickly scanned through the information presented, my expression cool, clear and emotionless as I sifted through the data with analytical eyes. Naturally, I oversaw all aspects of the arena. Muttation design being a key one, and this little project which I had entrusted to my advisor was perhaps the most interesting of all.

It would prove to be one of the most exciting moments of this year's games I was sure, but it would also serve as a small-scale test for something that I would replicate by ten times in the Quarter Quell. If the results were as intended, of course…

"Increase the dosage by fifteen percent, I want them all broken by tomorrow evening; the art team need to begin and I don't want them to be recognisable as people. The surgical team have done a good job starting that off, but I need their behavior crazed enough to look like something we cooked up in a lab."

"Of course, Madame."

"If any shred of their individuality remains it could ruin what stands to be an incredible climactic opportunity. I'll authorise an additional thirty five percent if need be, but don't exceed it. We want vicious adversaries not drooling corpses."

"Of course, Madame."

"You'll also find a little treat left for you in your apartment." I stopped and turned to her with a small smile. "One drop in a glass of wine and that tasty little thing you've been pining for will be yours for a night. But after that, please do get over it, you've got more important things to do than waste your time with someone who doesn't see your worth…"

"Thank you, Madame…" Her sweet voice was almost trembling this time, obviously excited by my little act of generosity.

If her project resulted in the success I was expecting, she could expect a few more acts of generosity coming her way too.

After all, there was nothing more valuable than exceptional ability. No matter where it came from…

* * *

 **Stark Conwell**

 **17 Years Old, Male, District Eight**

Seeder Howell, twenty-ninth Hunger Games, won because she could go without food for the longest. That was the scenario I was playing to myself over and over, reliving those Games in my mind as I watched the thin, almost skeletal, woman use another tribute's own knife to slit their throat after they collapsed from hunger. I was trying to fend off the temptations of the table full of the most exquisite looking cakes that Fatima and her colleague Odette, the Escort to the District Twelve tributes who still hadn't left their room, were enjoying as the train slowed down during the approach to the District Two station.

As tempting as they were, I knew they would haunt me in the arena ten-fold. Plus, my stomach had only just settled down from lunch, and from the looks of the colours on the food that Fatima was delicately enjoying, these glorious looking treats would be even richer…

"These are absolutely sublime! I want to have a tray of these ready for when I start hunting for sponsors; my darlings will have gifts coming out of their ears…" Odette, the dark-skinned mentor with a tangerine tinted headscarf wrapped around her bald head politely chuckled as she 'treated' herself to what must have been her fourteenth cake.

"Oh I have the _perfect_ dress ready for the first evening after the interviews. I am expecting truly remarkable things to happen this year. Oh I can hardly contain myself!" Fatima squealed, releasing a burst of excitement that was hardly sudden. She had been uncomfortably excited since she had showed us the footage of Lucretia Cachexia, the new Head Gamemaker, giving a rather chilling speech about the games. The woman seemed almost delusional, as if she thought that it didn't take amy skill or talent to survive in the Games at the moment, and as such she was going to make them even more challenging than before.

It was a double-edged sword to me.

On the one hand, an arena that needed you to be smart, to solve problems and to be cunning, was something that some of us outliers had over some of the Career tributes. From watching the years there was usually one 'Alpha' who led the group. Usually the most ferocious on of them, the strongest, the person with the best odds… But not usually the smartest. Whereas any lone wanderer who lasted late enough in the Games to be considered a contender was bound to be intelligent and cunning to have survived for so long on their own. In every Games I had watched, that was the case.

I had an edge there.

But the way she talked about encountering threats beyond what we usually saw, on the other hand, was deeply worrying information. We had seen honest horrors over the years, things that had my senses not been somewhat dulled after watching them over and over again, would have given me nightmares. I couldn't imagine how they could be 'beyond' what they Gamemakers usually invent; their usual inventions were reaching an apex of terror without any room for 'improvements'.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

I know Fatima showed us the clip of her speech to try and give us a boost in confidence, but I was far more confident before I saw the chilling gleam in her eye.

And my sudden worry only increased as I felt the train pull to a stomach grinding halt. District Two.

There wasn't much visible of it in the dark, but honestly any sightseeing could wait. If I won, I could do it then. The only sight that I was concerned about seeing was the pair from District Two who would be walking onto the train in a moment.

Fatima had adamantly refused to let us watch the District Two Reaping, making us wait to meet them in person. Her enthusiasm was notable, but it was putting us at a slight disadvantage. Of course, District Two hadn't had a chance to watch any of the Reapings yet, the Districts had to watch them all back the following day, so we would still be one step ahead in that regard.

She had, however, allowed us to watch District One, Four and Five. Which at least allowed me to formulate something of a picture of the threatening line up.

A volunteer from District Five was uncommon. They were a wealthy District, even more so than District Four if the annual District tesserae statistics were to be believed, but they weren't a District who were consumed with the thoughts of glory and victory that the Hunger Games had provided. If they had training centres there, none of them were very good or nobody had yet come of age.

She didn't look like a confident and well thought out volunteer, she looked panicked and rushed, a brash decision that she would probably regret once she was in the training centre and realised what she was up against. The boy on the other hand looked worryingly bored. Bored in a way that made my skin crawl.

District One was as expected. Well almost. Two volunteers, but due to a rather absurd act of subterfuge, the actual female Volunteer was beaten to the stage by someone else who snuck up whilst the former swaggered about with her bravado. Not that I was disappointed. The original Volunteer was an enormous creature that had limbs like tree-trunks, her replacement was a typical pretty girl that did tend to come out of District one, though the last one to win was Goldanna in the ninety-third, who was as deadly as she was gorgeous.

The boy from the District was distinctively courteous, elegant and graceful. Had he been a female I might have found him sexy too, but alas, his see-through shirt was telling us quite clearly that he was male, but I imagined that he already had sponsors in the Capitol lining up for him. Attractive ones always got lots of gifts. The Capitol's sexual appetites seemed to go beyond gender.

And then District Four was as expected. A strong looking girl, muscular, but not hugely more so than Eloise was. She was confident, but they always were when they volunteered from Four. The boy on the other hand was wearing a cloth covering one of his eyes, which was already such a huge disadvantage that I imagined he would have needed to be incredibly deadly to have been allowed to volunteer.

The subtle sound of the doors opening was enough to make my heart race, knowing that the last two pieces of this year's puzzle were about to walk into the room. Fatima and Odette stood up to greet them with giddy excitement. I moved to stand up but I got stopped in my tracks.

"You're gonna stand for them? Really?" Eloise commented with a slight hint of amusement in her voice, looking at me with a lopsided little smirk on her face. I thought about it. I didn't plan to disappear into the crowd, especially considering I would have to get some weapons training in the training centre and hopefully would end up good enough to be considered a threat by the end of it. I guessed that staying seated might antagonise them a little. Maybe I was overthinking things…

I sat back down, flumping with my back down on the sofa just as I saw the District's Escort enter the room, which immediately made the three of them explode in an uproar of kisses and greetings. I saw the boy stride into the carriage, but just for a second. My vision was immediately blocked by Eloise standing and making a big show of it.

I grunted.

The bitch had just manipulated me into showing up possibly the biggest threat in the arena.

All by not standing up.

He was leaner than most of the District Two boys, his arms muscular and showed off in his sleeveless vest that was hardly meeting the formality requirements we were expected to uphold in District Eight. His muscularity was there, but it wasn't bulky like it would have been for someone who had been swinging a mace or hammer for the past few years. My immediate thought was throwing knives, but there was something about him that didn't lend itself to the use of throwing knives. They were usually used by flashy tributes with a little flare. This boy looked like he'd need a weapon a bit more confident and obvious. He had a swagger and an arrogance about him, a weapon like a javelin would have suited him well.

Until I watched his fingers reach out for a glass of cold juice that his Escort was directing him to. They were calloused at the fingertips. He either was a guitarist, which seemed unlikely… Or he used a bow.

The girl on the other hand looked confident and sure of herself, if not the tiniest bit nervous. She was attractive, but her arms were perhaps more muscular than her District partner's, something which lent itself to the idea of her using some form of heavy weapon. A mace perhaps. Or even a flail. It certainly didn't match her delicate and nice persona she was putting out, but it was either that or she did a lot of lifting…

But she had a dark look in her eyes that perhaps set me on edge more than her comrade. He did look like he'd happily kill someone without much care, the way he looked at everything as if he owned it, but she had a more sinister way about her as she looked around the room as if it offended her.

Neither of them made me feel particularly comfortable…

The male seemed to keep his eyes on the female at all times, as if he was trying to work something out about her. In fact, he didn't even offer myself or Eloise a glance, even as he pushed past her to head towards the television. Perhaps he didn't know we were his competitors. Perhaps he did and didn't care.

"How do we watch the Reapings?" The girl asked directly, following the male with small steps and an angry tone to her voice, her Escort tiptoeing behind her with a ridiculously long train to her dress that was practically flooding the carriage, reaching for the control to the television that Fatima had set on the side from when she'd shown us the final few Reapings.

"Hurry; I want to see the other tributes." He added with a tone of voice that was somewhere between an angry bull and a child who was impatient and excited. It was only when he rolled his head lazily in the direction of Eloise and myself, that I felt a real and honest sense of threat that I couldn't misconstrued as me overthinking things. "I want to choose who's going to be my first kill."

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 _ **So we went a bit more backstory heavy in this one and we even got a special guest** **appearance** **from Lucretia and our District Two Tributes. (Remember that one District? Back in like what,** **February** **? I suck SO much.)**_

 _ **Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a little comment if you did.**_

 _ **One thing I am worried about is whether my overwhelmingly long update times have lost me most of my Readers. Even if so, I'm still going to write this story to the end, I doubt much will stop me from doing that, don't threat.**_

 _ **However I had a whole sponsor system planned out, and I can't do that if I don't have many readers. So please, if you do read, and you do enjoy it, I've tried sticking one of those poll things on my profile to get an estimate of how many readers I have still got.**_

 ** _I know it's effort, but It'll really help me out with this idea, as I'll have to tweak it slightly otherwise._**

 ** _And of course, on the note of readers, please review if you did enjoy. Not only am I keeping count of my reviewers for those of you who submitted a tribute, but getting a review and reading it gives me a big hunk of inspiration to write the next bit._**

 _ **My** **optimistic** **plan is to try and finish up the reapings by the End of the year... But who knows what'll happen, I don't like to promise because I don't know how busy December will be for me.**_

 _ **So please let me know if you enjoyed the chapter, leave a little review and give me some feedback, and head on over to tap a button on my profile**_

 _ **Thank you all for sticking with me**_

 _ **I WILL make it worth your while in the end.**_

 _ **I have such plans for the arena**_

 _ **It will be worth every month I've wasted**_

 ** _I promise!_**

* * *

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male: WolfGang Schwarz- 18

Galactic Coach

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 1

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female: Ryana Ruiz- 14

 _AmericanPi_

Male: Ceres Syth- 16

 _Maveriqua_

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female: Doe Decem- 16

 _roses burning_

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female: Chrysanta Bloomtown- 16

 _Skyheart003_

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

 _ThePocketwatchRipper_

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male: Splice Wellwind- 16

 _HoppsHungerfan_


	11. Chapter Nine: Doubt

_**Wow wow wow**_

 _ **This story will be a year old in a few days. Goodness gracious I let things really drag out.**_

 _ **I think I worked out why it takes me so long though:**_

 _ **So this chapter is 8500~ words, and I wrote 7500~ of those in 48 hours, so I know that I can do it.**_

 _ **I think the problem is that with my other hobbies I have friends who do them to so we encourage each other a bit more. I don't have any friends who write fanfiction and stuff so I guess I maybe do get a little complacent because I get pursuaded to do other things.**_

 _ **I'm gonna try hard to sort it out but it might just be one of those things.**_

 _ **Now these two tributes:**_

 _ **I loved them both**_

 _ **But with one of these two I did something really different. I suddenly realised one thing that I have never really seen in any SYOT which should be in every single one if we're being somewhat realistic. These are teenagers. Now I can't speak for teenage girls but teenage boys are getting to a raunchy age. They think about sex a lot.**_

 ** _So I added a little bit of sexual frustration which I think was in keeping with the Character, and I do hope it works out._**

 ** _I don't know how I feel about this one, it's very different to the others. I don't know if it is my best but I have certainly enjoyed writing it. But as said we're getting to know a lot more characters here than just the tributes so let me know what you think about it_**

 ** _But I did take some of the feedback on board and this chapter is just two POV's_**

 _ **Now unless anyone wants to discuss sex in Panem any further…**_

 _ **On with the show**_

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

 _Dissent_

* * *

 **Ceres Syth**

 **16 Years Old, Male, District Nine**

A sharp pain in my finger made me flinch, my hand pulling away from my mouth in reflex as my tongue caught the sharp, coppery taste of blood. I'd bitten through the skin. I cursed under my breath as I wiped the bloodied fingertip on the side of my slacks; it wasn't like it mattered whether I looked presentable or not now. I'd already been on the stage, broadcasted all over Panem to be weighed up and judged, to have faraway people begin placing bets on how long it would be before I died.

It wasn't like a little blood on my trousers was going to make any difference now.

But with my inability to keep myself occupied by biting my nails, not wanting to be suffering from the pain of nail bed cuts for last week of my life, I busied my hands by picking at the leather of the sofa I was sat on. It didn't take long for me to pull one of the studded embellishments off, but was hardly caring if I ruined the Mayor's precious furniture. It wasn't like he worked for any of it anyway; he just leeched the money out of all of the people who worked ten times as hard, getting themselves burned from the sun, blistering their hands from the constant use of tools, putting up with unrelenting insects and constantly on the watch for snakes…

His damned son was even worse.

When Mayor Cloverfield was in charge, things were tough, but we managed. Over the past few years his strict quotas had drifted a little more lenient, my family were finally able to feed themselves and managed to touch the house up a little bit, even whilst still forking out enough money for my younger brother's medicines. My Dad still did the bare minimum, but my Mother had taken to weaving baskets and hats that didn't fail to fetch a decent price around summer time. My older Brother also disappeared a few nights a week to the illegal fighting matches that occurred throughout the District, often coming back with a few bruises and occasionally a decent amount of food.

We were doing okay.

And then our 'great' Mayor fell ill. And not the sort of illness that a trip to the local apothecary solved, the sort of ill that even warranted a visit from a Capitol physician, a man who probably could have solved my younger brother's ailment without much thought and stopped us having to spend so much money on his medicines… But of course we weren't worth that, whatever it was the Mayor had, it was _much_ more serious.

People gossiped, there was talk of an election, it was somewhat exciting… Even with his new leniency, he was still a pig and I would have been glad to see him ousted from his mansion and sent scurrying into the slums with his whole damned family. I remember the feeling of joy I had in the pit of my stomach when I noticed that he wasn't on the stage last year for the Reaping. And I remembered even more the bitter taste when his Son stepped up to the microphone to give us a rendition of his own twisted litany to the Capitol.

East Cloverfield.

He was only a year older than me, still born and bred in District Nine, but he carried himself like some important dignitary from the Capitol. He always had peacekeepers nearby in case of trouble; he always had this little expression on his face like he had worked out everything before it had happened. Apparently they loved him in the Capitol, and watching the way the Escort had looked at him today was enough to confirm that. But even some of the District thought he was wonderful. The upper-class genetic scientists who ensured the wheats were the best quality, the agricultural experts who organised crop rotation and irrigation, the beekeepers who were crucial to the production of certain crops, like rapeseed and sunflower, even the smiths, the bakers, anyone who earned enough money that his blatant and ruthless subjugation of the poor didn't bother.

But people like my family suffered.

So sitting in his home was torture. Having to lounge idly, surrounded with so much unnecessary stupor that it filled me with rage. The leather sofa I was sat on probably would fetch a price that would feed my family for half a year. The poker for the grand fireplace in the hall would have traded for a month's worth of medicine for my Brother, even the pile of damned firewood was enough to keep us warm for a few weeks instead of just gathering dust in a little pile up here. I wanted to spit on the floor of his unearned wealth, but I was very aware of the Peacekeeper sat behind me.

I was angry, not stupid.

I knew that I should have been spending my idle time waiting for my District partner by making some form of game plan. I knew that my every thought from this point on should have been about how I could survive a little longer in the arena. But honestly, I couldn't drag myself away from the anger I felt at having to sit in the Mayor's house, whilst his Son and the Escort wandered off chatting like dear old friends, waiting on my District partner who seemed to have had ten times the amount of time to say her farewells as I had…

I started tapping my foot, at least knowing that I would be irritating the Peacekeeper whilst we waited, giving me just a dash of joy whilst I scanned around the room looking for some other source of interest. Something to distract me for but a moment…

Then the clip-clopping sound of shoes on the manicured wood floor caught my attention, letting me swing around to see Ryana walking in timidly, at least able to stand on her own this time, being escorted by another Peacekeeper to the same sofa I was sat on. I tried not to look too annoyed.

Ryana was a tiny thing, small and skinny, sickly looking from her pale skin. She didn't look overly malnourished, just tiny, which was possibly even worse as at least she'd have a chance to stuff her face in the Capitol. Her dark eyes were wide and alert, darting from one part of the room to another as if to try and work out if anything was going to jump out at her.

As to be expected given my luck, my District partner looked all but useless. I supposed that she could be concealing some special talent, though I wouldn't have been able to venture a guess about what that could possibly be… She was just small, scared looking, weak looking. I imagined from her antics on stage she wouldn't stand a chance of getting a sponsor unless someone was really feeling sympathetic.

I might have had a few moments of shock when my name was called, looked a little startled on stage perhaps. But she collapsed…

The whole of Panem saw her collapse.

She was doomed.

Not only was her chances of getting sponsors now diminished, the other tributes had seen her too. They'd consider her an easy target, someone to kill quickly and not have to worry about getting hurt back…

I watched her, the way she had to take a quick glance at the sofa before she sat down, as if to make sure a snake hadn't slipped up onto the seat before she had gotten there… She wouldn't last a day.

Me on the other hand… I didn't know. I was strong enough from field work, but then quite often District Nine's tributes had that on their sides. I guessed that I was attractive enough, at least a few of the girls out in the fields seemed to think so with their lingering eyes and coy giggles. It didn't much interest me.

But it would be of interest if it was some rich perverted freak in the Capitol who thought I was attractive, someone who might be able to push some money my way. A bread roll or a warm blanket or something; tributes so rarely got given weapons that I didn't even consider it to be an option. Either way, if they could help me out in the arena, the perversion was worth it.

But in terms of skills, I hadn't been in a fight or anything before, arguments certainly, but never an actual fist fight. I didn't know enough about life in other Districts to decide whether that was going to count against me or not, but either way it was something that might put me at a disadvantage in the end. I knew that tributes from One, Two or Four, the training Districts, would have experience there regardless and they were the big threats to avoid antagonising.

The disadvantage they had, at least from what I had noticed in the years of watching the Games, was that they were the ones who suffered from hunger the quickest. Out in the other Districts, particularly the outlying ones where tesserae was common, the tributes going into the arena were more often from poorer backgrounds, who didn't always know where their next meal was coming from. Not knowing when you would get your next meal was also something that tributes had to deal with in the arena. Being used to it was an advantage we had over them.

Though, I reminded myself angrily, that those well fed tributes were usually the ones who ended up in control of all of the supplies at the Cornucopia, meaning that food was not a concern of theirs until the late game, which meant surviving their hunting till there were only eight or so left… Usually one or two of them died before that point, but even then they were still a dominant force in every game I had seen. In fact, apart from the special circumstances of last year, I couldn't remember an arena where the final two hadn't consisted of at least someone from One, Two or Four.

Raige was from Four. Axel was from Six but he had to fight some girl from either One or Two. Then there was a guy from Seven who definitely went up against a boy from District One called Dashing… I wracked my mind about the next few, but I couldn't remember names very well. It was only the hot guys that I took much notice of…

Not like, the big guys, other than Axel Land of course… But I preferred guys who were slimmer, agile and flexible… But not quite as strong as me. Of course, I knew in reality that Raige Turtle would have been a hell of a lot stronger than a sixteen year old that hadn't quite finished filling out yet… But in my head, he definitely wasn't…

I cracked my heel against the hard wooden floor of the room violently, sending out a noise that made Ryana yelp and the Peacekeeper stiffen slightly. I obviously didn't care.

The damned arena would probably mean I died a fucking virgin.

I wondered how many tributes had had sudden realisations like this over the years, after all, aside from maybe the twelve year olds who haven't hit puberty yet and the eighteen year olds who were coming out of it, surely every single person in the arena was a horny, hormone ridden mess. I mean, people had had sex in the arena, the Capitol seemed quite happy to show it. After all, it always seemed to be the most attractive tributes that did it. Or at least… The Capitol only showed the attractive tributes doing it…

It made me wish that I'd gone after Mr Fields a little more enthusiastically. He was the foreman for my harvest team last year and he was just my type. I didn't like calling him Mr because he was only twenty or so, but his first name was still a mystery to me… I never got a chance to learn it because he always assigned me fairly far from him at work, and even when I did get to speak to him he always had a reason to cut the small talk short.

I hissed through my teeth.

"Right my little HoneyBees!" I heard the beamingly happy voice of Keelan, our Escort, chirping up as he wandered into the room wearing his yellow get-up that didn't really cover much more than his shoulders and his groin… His toned arms were tattooed with feather-like designs that were so detailed that you would have believed he was some sort of avian creature. The slightly nauseating addition was that his collarbones seemed to be stapled with hundreds of tiny strands of something shimmery that hung down and across his chest, sweeping around his body across each other before they fixed themselves to his hip bones either side. It was a cool, translucent effect, but it was still fairly alarming self-mutilation.

"Do you call everyone your HoneyBee?" A voice asked that made me tense up, that accent that wasn't quite Capitol, but also wasn't quite District Nine… "And here's me thinking I was special…" He finished with an amused tone of voice and probably some dashing facial expression that would make everyone in the room swoon.

I refused to look at him.

He was impossibly, disgustingly, infuriating. Wandering around in his finery whilst people like my family scraped together all they had to buy something to eat that wouldn't make us gag.

I almost growled.

Whatever the Escort's response to his teasing however, was missed by me, and instead I was forced to glance over at him to work out what we were doing next. Ryana had stood, so I followed suit. I assumed that this was it; time to go to the trains. But there was some vague clawing hope that maybe we'd missed some announcement that the Reaping was wrong… How I could convince myself that _that_ was a possibility and getting gifted a knife by a sponsor _was_ I would never know.

"So… Before we head off, your Mayor wanted to give you both his best wishes of luck…" My heel inadvertently scrunched on the floor again, getting caught on the rug and not making a sound, fortunately. I imagined that Keelan would disown me as a tribute if he caught me disrespecting his apparent 'HoneyBee'. I wanted to be sick.

East went to Ryana first, walking with her at her pace across the room, with Keelan dancing along behind them, leaving me alone in the company of the damned Peacekeeper again.

I took my chance and gave the leg of his sofa a sharp kick, letting out a gargled squawk in response to how much it hurt my foot. The Peacekeeper looked at me sharply, before seemingly relax.

"You're an idiot." He informed me from behind his visor.

I wanted to jump over the sofa and smash his face into the fucking leg now… But I suppressed the urge. I didn't know what the punishment would be for doing that after being Reaped… But the Capitol were creative and I was sure that laws were put in place a long time ago that made even Reaped tributes being marched to the slaughterhouse keep in line…

So I stood shuddering in anger until I heard the footsteps belonging to the sharp boots of the mayor returning to me, watching him turn the corner in a way that made his tailcoat swish in an annoyingly elegant way.

I bet his tailcoat cost more than my house.

"Ceres." He addressed me neatly, stopping for a second in front of me, before he turned and gestured for me to move of in the direction he had departed in a brief while ago with Ryana and Keelan. I followed gruffly. "You're from the Sheaf aren't you?" He asked me, using that stupid name for the poor part of the District where all of the farmhands came from. It was probably a rhetorical question, so I didn't bother giving him more than a nod.

"Well you look strong from the manual labour, that's good." He continued, giving my arms and chest a good look over as he turned and began walking backwards with effortless grace. I wanted to punch him square in the nose. I wanted to grab him by the throat and choke him for all the hardship my family had faced. I also wanted him to put his disgustingly uncalloused fingers on my chest have him feel for himself how strong I was.

"I can give you a little more help than I could offer Ryana…" He began softly, reaching out to do something with the collar of my shirt, silk-soft fingers brushing against my neck in what I assumed was some sort of vivid nightmare fantasy… "In terms of how to present yourself, just because you're muscular don't go for a macho thing, compared to some of the other tributes you'll look like a fool. Try and come up with something honest but engaging. I'm sure Keelan can give you a hand there, just let him do his job and you'll be fine…" His words were like velvet and they almost made me feel lightheaded. Did Mayors usually give this sort of advice? I'm certain that I couldn't imagine East's father adjusting a tribute's collar…

"Isn't _this_ Keelan's job" I snapped, instantly regretting it as his hands left my collar and immediately folded up behind his back. "Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Technically yes but since Keelan isn't here and your collar was a mess…" He scoffed as if talking to a small child. "But to answer your question; it would be nice to have District Nine win for the first time in fifty four years…" He breathed quietly. "And with all the new additions this year, it sounds as though it's as open as it has been for a long time." I wanted to question what he meant, but he moved on way too quickly. "But the reason I'm making sure you give a good first impression is because District Mayors have the ability to sponsor tributes in the Game; I have the authority to help you out if you are in real need of it. So I wanted a chance to size you up myself, see if you look worth it."

"I thought that only happened to like District One and Two and Four?" I replied quietly… I was suddenly flooding my head with these conflicting emotions about East. He had made life dire for my family since he'd been in power… But up here, one to one, he was outright saying he could help me in the arena. I didn't know what to think.

"It is expensive, and I wouldn't bother unless I thought you had a good shot to win… But I'm liked in the Capitol and I could work something out if it might put you in a solid position." He told me softly, with those scheming blue eyes still not looking at my face. "But don't expect miracles; I'm not going to waste the money if you're dying in a ditch with one leg." He said without a hint of humour. This was the ice cold bastard who I had hated for the past few years.

"You'd rather save up for another tailcoat than save my life huh?" I angrily glared at him.

"Would you blame me? It's Capitol tailored and makes me look incredible." He returned, again without a hint of humour. He was no different than anyone from the Capitol, expect from being stuck down in a District instead. "But you're handsome enough to get a sponsor or two, or at least you will be after the stylists work some miracle with your hair… If your torso is good enough they might even get you dressed up like Keelan… Any abs yet or not old enough?" His lip twitch at the last comment informed me that it might have been a joke… But I suddenly pictured myself wearing that bizarre… Thing… I think looked alright in it.

"But in all seriousness, if you perform well… You might have a chance."

I stared him down, this Capitol spawn who slipped from being ruthlessly cold to being moderately helpful to being impossibly alluring. I didn't know whether I wanted to smash his perfect teeth out right there in his own mansion, or if I wanted to grab him around the back of the neck and kiss him till I got dragged off by a Peacekeeper, or if I wanted to force him to his knees and put my… I stopped my train of thought.

"You… Erm…" He coughed politely, making me draw my attention back to him. "You might want to tuck that somewhere more discrete… There're cameras out there and you don't want to be known for the tribute who has a thing for his Mayor."

"Dammit." I seethed, sticking my hand down my trousers angrily. "This is your fault." I childishly blamed him. His amused face was only serving to irritate me once again. I couldn't imagine anyone else in Panem as infuriating as this damned Mayor.

"Of course…" He murmured softly, turning and resuming his walk towards the door at the end of the corridor. I didn't really know what I had intended to do when I grabbed him and pushed him against the wall, his eyes lighting up with a delightful jolt of astonishment as I realised this might have been the only time there wasn't some Peacekeeper watching his every step.

"I suggest you let me go before someone comes around that corner and shoots you." He returned, surprisingly calmly considering, though I could feel the tenseness in his body that was indicative of some real strength in his slender limbs.

"I want to fuck you." I don't know why I said it. Sure I was sixteen… My Mum always called me a hothead and I knew I had a few anger issues and I did occasionally get a bit worked up… But never would I have dreamed of saying that to East fucking Cloverfield. It felt incredible. "I want you to scream my name…" The look of shock on his face at my words somehow made me feel like I had got him back a little for the amount of nights I had gone to sleep on an empty stomach because of his choices.

"Well your timing is fairly poor, considering you have to be out of that door in about fifteen seconds. I'm sure it'd be enough time for you to finish but…"

"You mean… If my timing had been different…" I paused, not sure whether I was just really worked up or just really confused. "You would have?" I stepped back, acknowledging his comment about someone shooting me, a little baffled at what was happening between us. He just rolled his eyes.

"No. You're from the Sheaf, you're probably from one of those families who go to those stupid fights to gamble away your food and then blame it all on me when you go hungry." I felt rage trickle through my veins again, watching his expression as his insulted my family and our finances. I would have smashed his jaw if I hadn't stepped back.

"And may I remind you, that I am still your Mayor. Just because I am your age doesn't mean you can push me against a wall like some back alley Sally and get away with it." He was still calm, cool, collected, terrifying. "But if you end up back in this District, as a Capitol groomed Victor, we can try pushing me against a wall again…" He took a step towards me. "So do try not to get your dick cut off."

I didn't know how I'd jumped through so many emotions in so few seconds. From rage, to lust, to terror, to realisation, and now watching his hips swishing and his tailcoat following suit, I felt humiliation and shame start creeping up. Had I just forgotten about how East had been the cause of most of my suffering because he was pretty? Had I just put a desire to be a Victor in the arena to come home and have long, wild sex with him above the promise I had made to my family, whilst I shivered with fear and anger, to do everything I could to come home to them?

I had.

But as we stepped out of the door and down towards the car, where Keelan was slowly gesturing to Ryana who looked as scared as ever, I realised something. _I_ had always been the one trying my hardest and breaking my back to help my family… Sure Mother wove her baskets and hats and Barric went down and fought people for cash… But neither of them _really_ tried to go that extra mile and make something happen.

Maybe I _deserve_ something that I want, rather than another choice made in the best interests of my family.

And dammit I wanted to have sex with East Cloverfield.

And I wanted him to wear that damned tailcoat.

But then as the car door was shut behind me, and I nestled uncomfortably down on the seat whilst giving one last glance back towards East, I realised something else…

What I _really_ wanted…

Was to survive.

* * *

 **Ryana Ruiz**

 **14 Years Old, Female, District Nine**

I tried to remind myself that I just needed to take deep breaths. Calming breaths. I couldn't let things get too much again.

Mayor Cloverfield had told me that as he walked with Keelan and I out to the car. He told me that fainting once at the Reaping at least gave me an angle to play, something for the Capitol to remember when they were making their donations. It was enough that they wouldn't forget about me, whereas the other tributes would take one look at my Reaping and dismiss me completely. That worked in my favour. But then he said, and Keelan agreed, that if it became a pattern, the Capitol would lose interest very quickly.

In a way, I appreciated that he didn't sugar coat it like my big Sister and Uncle had. I knew what I was going into. Hearing them say 'you're smart' so many times in such a short space of time was depressing. As if they were trying to convince themselves that I had a chance to win in the arena.

I didn't.

That was the only thought that had circled through my head for the whole hour we had been sat on the train, and I hadn't said a word. I could only sit there thinking about my impending doom and then try and calm myself down from it again. It was a vicious cycle.

Even if East and Keelan's plan worked out, that the other tributes would dismiss and forget me, let me be invisible in the arena, it would only ever get me as far as the final two. And that was being incredibly generous. But even then, after getting so close, what could I do?

I couldn't see myself using a weapon. I was even scared of the kitchen knives we had at home. I couldn't imagine holding one myself, stabbing…

No.

The only other option would be poison, which I did know a little bit about from my years of gardening at home. I remember when Mayor Cloverfield, the old one, marched into our garden with three Peacekeepers and got damned close to arresting my family because I was growing Oleander by mistake. I just thought it was pretty.

But even if I found something like Oleander in the arena, I wouldn't know what to do with it. I wouldn't know what the most poisonous part of the plant was or how I would get that poison from a plant into another tribute… Somehow trick them into eating it would be the obvious solution, but I don't know if I would be able to do that. Not in good conscience.

I struggled up and tried to wipe away a tear that was threatening to spill from the corner of my eye.

It was nothing about conscience. I would just be too scared.

"Focus on what needs to be done." I whispered silently to myself. "Focus on what needs to be done." I repeated my little mantra, knowing that if I tried really hard, I'd be able to do just that.

I continued taking deep breaths, slowly looking up from underneath my curly fringe. At least I had been alone with Keelan before, whilst we waited for Ceres to catch up. He was a little eccentric and his clavicle and hip alterations reminded me of the power pylons that hung over the train station, but he was friendly enough. Calm at least. Perhaps a little dim…

But the other three were new and I needed to get a sense of them.

Their Escort was loud, very loud. Excitable. He, like Keelan, wasn't wearing a whole lot. But he was much more eccentric. Keelan was content to sprawl about on a chaise and hang his head off of the end to talk to us. He was relaxed. He reminded me of a cat sunbathing at times, a well pampered cat that knew he could just roll around for a bit and someone would quickly him some attention.

The other man…

He was jumpy and mobile; he seemed incapable on sitting on the sofa. He would perch on tables, lean on the walls… He even got as excited at one point as we watched the District Five Reaping live and someone volunteered, that he grabbed hold of the chandelier and swung himself across the carriage. That sort of reckless behaviour always put me on edge.

I had even tried to be brave enough to sit and watch some of the Reapings as they were played but he talked so much through them that I wouldn't have even known the names had they not been displayed on the screen. He kept sticking his tongue out too and it was causing me some grief. He was a thoroughly unpleasant man.

A more pleasant one was the boy, sat with a brave smile on his face and trying to comfort the girl who didn't look much better off than I was, though I might have been being judgemental because of the scar across her face. They both seemed pleasant, and they didn't look much older than me either. That was a refreshing thought.

From watching the Reapings, a lot of the tributes seemed older. I mean Ceres was only Sixteen but I would have believed he was older if I had been told. A lot of the other boys looked the same in their Reaping shots. Strong, lean, confident… There was one boy from District Five who terrified me more than all the others.

For some reason I hadn't paid much attention to the girls, I guess I just assumed that the boys would have been scarier. I _knew_ that girls killed just as ruthlessly in the arena, but somehow I could imagine one of those girls I had seen on stage being merciful. I couldn't say the same for the boys. Apart from the boy from Eleven, and Kinnick.

I glanced over at him, watching the way his eyes danced as he looked at the swathes of space outside the train. He looked so entertained by it all that it somehow felt rather calming to watch him. But then he caught my eye.

"We don't have anything like this in Three." He said softly, smiling at me with his pretty looking mouth. "At least not in places that _we're_ allowed to go. It's so beautiful out here though, even in the rain." He tilted his head slightly "Especially in the rain; I bet the air tastes so clean." I mentally reminded myself to stay calm. I hated talking to strangers. But I was in a unique situation. He seemed like a kind person, and I doubted I would be meeting many of those in the next few days.

I took a deep breath and managed to straighten myself up, looking up and pushing some of the hair out of my eyes so that he could get a good look at me in return. It was only polite…

"It's nice." I told him, shakily, before I mentally scolded myself. I needed to say something else; he would be put off if I was like this, blunt and weird. "But there are a lot of bugs. And birds." I knew full well that it wasn't a great attempt at conversation by any means. And if _I_ knew that, I was certain that he did too. But he still kept that same, kind smile on his mouth the whole time.

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly, almost like my Sister would after I had an anxiety attack, that same softness every time when she sat next to me to let me know that I was okay… I mentally screamed at myself not to start crying, but my body tended to not listen to me when I told it to do something like that. The tears burnt little trails down my face before I could even cuff them. "Gosh I'm so sorry, that was a stupid question…" He actually sounded really upset with himself for asking, which only made me more upset in return. Fortunately, I guess, it was all cut short when his Escort positively exploded.

"Whoa! Everyone look at that marvel right-now! Gracious, do you all see that?" He shouted excitedly, dancing about on the balls of his feet as he ran his hand up through his crimson hair so violently that he knocked his own hat off. He didn't seem to notice. "That is the border to District One!" He belted loud enough to leave a bruise, before he yelped to himself and grabbed one of the silver shined platters from the dining table and used it as a mirror. "Oh good Gracious… Keelan come help me sort out my hair please, please. Now! Please?"

His tone was somewhat rude, certainly confused, but he fell to his knees and practically begged Keelan, before seemingly getting what he wanted and racing down the train carriage whooping and swinging on things. Keelan yawned in response, rolling himself off of the sofa and onto his feet, straightening up with an amused little look on his face. He blew a kiss at me as he left which made me blush.

"Wow… Are they, together?" Kinnick asked, his eyes trailing after the pair, who were still audible from the other end of the train.

"Well I expect they know each other from before this…" The girl, Ashni I think her name was, chimed in. "But I think people from the Capitol have different social rules to us."

"They just really remind me of some people from back home…"

I suddenly found their conversation fading into static as we suddenly hurtled into blackness, all of the evening light from the windows replaced by nothingness and I tried my absolute best not to let myself get worked up. The dark didn't usually set me off. Death, getting reaped, snakes, birds, being on stage, social interaction, watching my family suffer… All of those thoughts terrified me. The dark was fine. The unknown however, was not.

"What was all that noise?" A voice asked that was only slightly more familiar than any of the others from today, Kinnick, Keelan, Ashni… Ceres only seemed more familiar because he had the slight twang in his accent that most people in the Sheaf had. It was a little familiar, but not necessarily comforting.

"I think our Escorts got a bit over-energised about going into District One…" Kinnick returned politely, moving to stand up as if to shake Ceres' hand, but the latter had already moved to sit down on Keelan's chaise.

"It's probably every Escort's dream to work for District One; they're definitely the favourite District." Ashni corrected, before looking over to Ceres.

"And they definitely get volunteers every year." Kinnick chimed on the end.

"And they're _definitely_ always the gorgeous tributes who the Capitol swoon for." Ceres added with a little scoff. I almost hated him for somehow being able to join in the conversation so easily, so effortlessly. People all took it for granted and it was something that the very thought of terrified me.

But I had to really start facing my fears.

"And they're definitely going to be getting on this train soon…" Was my contribution to the 'game' which of course deadend it. I think we were all suddenly aware that although the four of us seemed okay, the two people from District One would actually be trained in how to kill. I felt my fear bubble up once again.

"Does anyone think they might be able to win?" Ashni quietly murmured, taking the conversation into an even darker place. I definitely didn't have anything positive to say at this point.

"Maybe." Ceres was the only one who really spoke up, but he only looked half-confident.

"Any of us could I guess, it's not just skill, it is about luck too." Kinnick, of course, tried to find a silver lining.

"Kin…" Ashni began grimly, but he cut over her.

"Come on. Remember what Piraeus said about the new Head Gamemaker wanting everyone to have a chance? He wouldn't have lied about that." He replied with a smile. "We could get lucky. That's all there is too it."

"Only one person gets lucky in the arena." Ceres told him with a glum look on his face. "We can't all get lucky."

The mood had gone from fairly uplifting just a few seconds before. Now it was horrible. All I wanted to do was curl up and cry but I knew that I had to try and keep strong. If I became known for crying at everything nobody would sponsor me in the arena and I'd end up fending for myself. Whilst I was hardly expecting much, as East had told me earlier back in his mansion, he could send something my way if it would put me in a strong position to win.

I didn't expect to get that far, but it was still an important thought to keep in the back of my mind.

The darkness outside reflected the mood in the cabin, and it took me a while to realise when we were out of the tunnel because it had gotten so dark. The rain was heavier and I could hear it tapping softly on the roof if I listened hard enough. But after a while the tapping was replaced by shoes and Keelan had returned, looking a little put out that the chaise was no longer available before he perched himself on one of the dining chairs, having swapped out his short shorts for a skin-tight pair of dark trousers that was dashed in a generous amount of glitter.

"It's somber in here… Try and perk yourselves up before Piraeus walks back in or he'll make you sing a song…" He teased lightly, reaching down and plucking something off of one of the platters on the table and popping it into his mouth. My stomach growled.

I didn't realise how hungry I was.

But then I didn't know what the food on the table was, it was all new to me, it might give me a stomach ache, or I could knock a tray over and embarrass myself, plus I didn't even like my family watching me eat so there was no way I could ever do it…

I stopped my litany of excuses.

After my Mother died, I had to pull myself together for the family. I had to leave the house, talk to people, do things. I never thought I could and I certainly didn't want to, but I _had_ to. And right now, I _had_ to pull myself together once again. Because if I didn't I would definitely die in the next few days. I knew I didn't stand much of a chance, but I still stood a tiny chance. It was enough to be worth fighting for.

I stood myself up and walked over to the table, trying to eye up anything that looked fairly tame, something I recognised. There was nothing…

"Here…" Keelan turned and reached out for a small platter of little tarts, gesturing for me to take one. "These are East-Mayor Cloverfield's favourites…" He told me, correcting himself as if it wasn't common knowledge that he and East were close… I didn't know how close, but certainly friendly.

But I didn't want to disappoint him and so I took the little treat, taking the smallest bite through the pastry crust and into the white icing-like layer inside the tartlet. It tasted incredible. I couldn't help but moan in pleasure at the taste to the extent that it made Keelan actually chuckle at my reaction.

"It's nice to see you smile, Honeybee." He told me with a kind hand on my back before he turned and offered the treats to the rest of the room. "Would anyone like one? They're the Mayor of District Nine's absolute favourite thing to eat."

I was warmed to my core at Keelan's kind approach. But I couldn't help watching everyone suddenly clamber across the room to have one of these cakes. Not that I blamed them. Ceres was especially enthusiastic.

"What are they called?" He asked Keelan as he took half of the tart into his mouth in one go.

"They're urm…" Keelan looked a little distressed at Ceres' table manners. "They're called Cherry Bakewells."

Everyone seemed to agree that they were good, Ceres even going so far as to memorise the name, talking with his mouth full and distressing Keelan some more. He returned the tray to the table and perched on a chair next to where I was standing.

And before I forced myself to engage in any more small talk, I felt the train slow.

"This is _definitely_ it…" Kinnick tried to joke, but I don't think his heart was really in it. Either way, none of us laughed, instead standing as we fully stopped. I closed my eyes.

I didn't know whether the person about to walk into the carriage was going to be the person who killed me. To be fair I didn't _know_ that Ashni, Kinnick or Ceres _wouldn't_ be the ones to kill me but it felt more real coming from District One. Their District had a much higher body count than ours did. Probably combined.

"Auriel, have you put your back out or is your age just creeping up on you Honeybee…" Keelan teased as the woman in question walked into the room, adorned with furs and sequins and gemstones that made her look a fairly intimidating presence. On account of how expensive her clothing looked. I had never seen so much luxury in one place before. I wasn't even sure if I had seen it at all before.

"Oh you rotten boy Keelan…" She chided playfully in response, doing some sort of elaborate face-kissing ritual that completely distracted me from looking at the two tributes who had just walked in. "Giada, Narce…" She called, beckoning them to her a tall, slender, gorgeous looking boy, and a girl who met the same criteria almost perfectly, expect from having a fat lip and smeared lipstick on her cheek… Or perhaps blood… "This is Keelan, the District Nine Escort… Who are yours Dear?"

" _These_ are my two little Honeybees, sweet little Ryana and my little farm-boy Ceres." As soon as Keelan had spoken, Auriel turned to me, gave me a hug that made my whole body tense up. It was as though I expected her to stab me or something, but it was nothing more than a soft brush before she withdrew and turned to Ceres, leaving my nose assaulted by the lingering presence of her perfume.

"Dear where is Piraeus?" She asked, her voice washing over my stupefied body like water as she spoke.

"Oh he had one of his hair meltdowns, I told him I was not going to get involved again."

"Heavens, what in Panem will we do with that man."

"I'm not sure, but I know that with you, I shall pour you a drink." Her soft giggling response took them over to another corner of the room and I realised that all of us tributes were just blankly staring at them. Their interaction was so… Regular.

Not regular for me, because they were talking about fancy things and drinks and that sort of stuff. But they were just talking. Like normal people. It reminded me of listening to my Grandparents in the kitchen from the top of the stairs because I was too scared to go all the way down. It was normal.

I don't know what I had expected.

But they were normal.

I only noticed how relaxed I had gotten just listening to them when the girl, Giada brushed past me in an effort to get herself something from the far corner of the table, making my whole body turn to shuddering stone once again. Her blue eyes only lingered on me for a moment, but her blank, merciless expression was telling me that I was right to be afraid of her.

The boy on the other hand, Narce, seemed pleasant, he was already sat next to Ceres on the chaise and readily engaging in conversation. I once again hated Ceres to be able to so easily talk to a stranger… Though, judging on how Ceres' eyes were practically ripping through the District One boy's sheer shirt, I didn't think he had conversation on his mind…

I shakily left my space at the table, walking back over to the corner of the sofa as Narce began working the television, wanting to watch the Reapings no doubt.

I was sure that they would all laugh when they watched me faint on stage. Giada especially. But I remembered that that was apparently a good thing…

I tried to concentrate on tactics, tried to go back and start wondering about arena plans, but it was all too distracting now.

Not because of fear.

But because of the way I could hear Auriel and Keelan chuckling to themselves, and the way Kinnick was excitedly trying to explain to Narce how the controller worked and the way I was sure Narce was only pretending to be interested. The way that Giada was moodily pressing a piece of ice to her sore lip and the way that Ceres was blatantly staring at Narce's bend behind.

It was all so… Normal.

I had expected to sit grimly with Keelan, Ceres and our seventy year old mentor; discussing strategy and game plans from the get go.

Instead, with all these changes that Keelan had told us about in the car, new Gamemaker and new rules and such, all of that was different.

There was something warm about the social setting we were now in. Something homely.

And something that would be all the more disgusting when we all were forced to turn on each other just to survive.

* * *

 _In Memoriam:_

 _Invidius Glasswhistle- Killed by: Lucretia Cachexia_

 _Having a thin high heel embedded through his eye_

 _Arizel Thymscar- Killed by: Attica Thymscar_

 _Strangled with a cord belt and thrown out of a building in a staged suicide_

* * *

 ** _So I hope the people who submitted those tributes are happy with what I did, and if not, let me know so I can adjust it in future chapters._**

 ** _As said, I don't know how in keeping it is with the rest of my stuff in this story, so please give me some feedback._**

 _ **Now we had a lot going on here, but first an explanation about one of the characters:**_

 _ **So East became a character because I made a fleeting mention of the Mayor of D9 in the last chapter in Lucretia's POV. And since in the Stark's POV, the Escorts are talking about Keelan as if he is attractive, I didn't know what to do with the Mayor. Then this idea of having an acting Mayor fell into my lap and I really loved it.**_

 _ **I wanted to create this guy who we can see into the life of a Mayor easier than if they had been older. I tried experimenting with the mayor in Chapter five but I just couldn't work it right , so I scrapped it. But having the Mayor being around the same age as Ceres gave them an opportunity to communicate much easier than it would have been if East had been older. I wanted this young, reaping aged Mayor, who has suddenly been snached up into this game of the Capitol and is loving it.**_

 _ **I wanted to explore a mayor because in the books we don't know much. I assume that they are favoured by the capitol as they live well off in their mansions, but we never really know much about them. I was spurred on by a passage in the first book where D11 sends Katniss the bread and Katniss remembers it being the first time a tribute had got a gift from another district. Ergo districts can sponsor tributes, which I put down to be the mayor's responsibility.**_

 _ **In my extension of Panem, I imagine a guy like East, young, charismatic, attractive and aware of what the Capitol wants, would be known about in the Capitol. This is the sort of person they want to see in charge of a District, he's a juicy political figure and a pin up, what's not to like? East knows that, and he plays to it by openly flirting with the Escort and giving his tributes closer attention.**_

 _ **After all, District stability is the most important thing to the Capitol, and the responsibility largely falls down to the mayor to maintain. As such, in my opinion at least, the Mayor's of the Districts are probably regarded to the Capitol in a similar way to the Victors. And with a Mayor who is young, attractive and doing a good job and keeping his District sorted, the Capitol would be especially interested.**_

 _ **Sorry for that ramble about Mayors. It's just something I enjoy as a writer to spend some time creating this tiny insignificant side character who most likely won't be seen again in this story, but is something different for me to enjoy creating and hopefully for you to enjoy reading about.**_

 _ **So please, all of you, let me know what you think and head on over to my profile if you haven't already so you can take a look at my poll and I'm gonna update it anyhow so there's that too.**_

 _ **Hopefully I'll be posting again soon!**_

 _ **I love you all so much for staying with me. You'll all see that it was worth it soon, I promise**_

* * *

 _ **District One: Luxury: Population 24,315**_

Female: Giada Beauchamp- 18

 _DamBaudelaires_

Male: Narce Valentine- 18

 _District7axemurder_

 _ **District Two: Masonry: Population 231,254**_

Female: Attica Thymscar- 17

 _One True Victor_

Male: Quirinius Crayton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Three: Electronics: Population 195,329_**

Female: Ashni Ayres- 15

 _Taylor1103_

Male: Kinnick Holtz- 16

 _AKLNxStories_

 ** _District Four: Fishing: Population 111,453_**

Female: Koral Shelly- 17

 _Misfit-right-in_

Male: WolfGang Schwarz- 18

Galactic Coach

 _ **District Five: Power: Population 134,345**_

Female: Gwynyth Wattson- 17

 _LiveFreeOrDie_

Male: Brites Steinla- 16

 _later . glader_

 _ **District Six: Transport: Population 784,453**_

Female: Lowelle Sable- 17

 _LordShiro_

Male: Padget Geare- 17

 _Goldie031_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber: Population 26,354**_

Female: Juniper Alameda- 18

 _TheDancerSG_

Male: Javor Acton- 18

 _Josephm611_

 ** _District Eight: Textiles: 122,134_**

Female: Eloise Falcon- 17

 _Atherva_

Male: Stark Conwell- 17

 _OneTrueVictor_

 _ **District Nine: Grain: Population 15,346**_

Female: Ryana Ruiz- 14

 _AmericanPi_

Male: Ceres Syth- 16

 _Maveriqua_

 _ **District Ten: Livestock: Population 19,234**_

Female: Doe Decem- 16

 _roses burning_

Male: Haidyn Rivendell- 18

 _Goldenmoonhuntress_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture: Population 138,546**_

Female: Chrysanta Bloomtown- 16

 _Skyheart003_

Male: Saffron Stride- 16

 _ThePocketwatchRipper_

 _ **District Twelve: Coal: Population 7,935**_

Female: Celine Dust-18

 _Nordic Nonsense_

Male: Splice Wellwind- 16

 _HoppsHungerfan_


End file.
